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STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 







The Surrender at Yorktown. 



STORIES OF BRAVE OLD 

TIMES 


SOME PEN PICTURES OF SCENES WHICH 
TOOK PLACE PREVIOUS TO OR CONNECTED 
WITH THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 


BY 


HELEN M. CLEVELAND 

\ \ 

AUTHOR OF “ VIVID SCENES IN AMERICAN HISTORY ” 


ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS AND WITH 

PEN DRAWINGS 

\ ' 

> ) 

■> > > 



BOSTON 

LEE AND SHEPARD 

1904 









LIBRARY of OONGRESS 
TWo Ooules Received 


AUG 20 1904 


Q Oonvripht Entrv 

<\„ia o H- 

CLAS8 ^ YXo. No. 

%C\ 0 o l 

COPY B 



> • 


Copyright, 1904, by Lee and Shepard. 
Published August, 1904. 


All Rights Reserved. 


Stories of Brave Old Times. 



Narbjoob Ifkesa 

J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. 








CONTENTS 




PAGE 

Our Forest Hero .n 

A Great Wrong . . . . . . . .18 

The Green Mountain Boys ...... 22 

The King’s Seal and the Beech Seal .... 23 

Locking up the King’s Judges . . . . *25 

Forest Trials and Border Warfare ..... 29 

A Meeting in a Barn ....... 33 

At the Call of the Chief ....... 35 

In the Cabin Home ....... 37 

A Colonel with a Servant ...... 39 

Old Ti.42 

The Hero and the Preacher.47 

A Famous Prisoner ....... 49 

At Pendennis Castle ....... 52 

Back to America.56 

Home Again ......... 59 

A Statesman of Brave Old Times .62 

An Odd Wedding Journey ...... 62 

Ten Years Later.63 

A Father of Brave Old Times.65 

The Last Years of this Great Man ..... 75 

Our Hero of the Swamps . 79 

A Puny Boy. 79 

A Quiet Planter and a Brave Soldier .... 80 

5 








6 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A Bad Blunder ...81 

Two Fugitives ........ 86 

Another Blunderer ........ 89 

A Scene in a Swamp ....... 90 

Daring Deeds.93 

Our Hero of Heroes.99 

George of the Potomac, and George of England . . 99 

Home-coming of a Hero ....... 103 

A Nation’s Call. .110 

Washington and his Mother. .113 

From Plantation to Nation ..119 

A Death-bed.121 

A Soldier’s Burial . . . . . . . .125 

The Man in the Old Red Coat.128 

Part I.128 

Part II.134 

Part III.138 

Part IV.143 

A Scene to be Remembered.146 

A Martyr for Freedom.154 

A Speech under Difficulties.165 

Discovery of an Orator.173 

Lady Dunmore’s Ball.183 

Part I.183 

Part II.189 

Richard Henry Lee’s Resolution.199 

The Coming of Cesar Rodney.205 


A Nation’s Birth Hour 


2 T O 








CONTENTS 


7 


PAGE 

The Silver Inkstand’s Day.222 

A Reckless Boy — a Wild, False Man .... 228 

A Gallant Soldier.231 

The Traitor.236 

A Midnight Meeting.240 

A Surprise.242 

At Smith’s House.244 

A Perilous Horseback Ride.245 

The Arrest ......... 249 

Before Colonel Jameson ....... 252 

A Breakfast Scene .. 253 

Escape to the Vulture ..255 

Washington Hears ..257 

A Prisoner.259 

Death of Andrd.260 

A Last Glimpse.262 

First Word for Freedom.263 

Reciting in Jail.267 

A Green Isle and a Dutch Town.270 

Where New Amsterdam was situited .... 273 

The City — Peter Stuyvesant.276 

The Surrender.281 

A Transformed Village.289 

Freedom Won ........ 293 

A Field of Humiliation.300 































































' 












































































































































, 































































ILLUSTRATIONS 


The Surrender at Yorktown. Frontispiece 


PAGE 


Woods in which Green Mountain Boys Lived 

Ethan Allen’s Entrance at Fort Ticonderoga .... 

Ruins of Fort Ticonderoga. 

Catamount Tavern ........ 

Jefferson’s Home at Monticello ...... 

Thomas Jefferson ......... 

Francis Marion ......... 

Washington resigning his Commission ..... 

Washington’s Coach. 

The Man in the Old Red Coat ...... 

Council Chamber in Old State House, Boston 

The Dog that snarled at Redcoats ...... 

Circle of Stones marking Place of Boston Massacre 
Statue of Nathan Hale, New York ..... 

Nathan Hale’s Birthplace. 

Old South Meeting-house. 

Fine Old Southern Home, almost a counterpart of Lord Dun- 
more’s Palace ( u Homewood,” one of the residences of 
Charles Carroll of Carrollton) 1 .... 

Raleigh Tavern ......... 


28 

34 
48' 
61 / 


76 f 

78 

98 

104 '' 
127 
134 ^ 
142 X 


J 45 

153 

162 

164 

172 


184 * 
188 


1 We are indebted to Mr. George H. Polley for this fine view of a southern 
colonial home. It is from his Edition de Luxe “Architecture of the Colonial 
Period.” 


9 








10 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Lady Dunmore’s Ball .... 
Richard Henry Lee .... 

The Coming of Rodney 
Independence Hall, Philadelphia 
The Strong Box ..... 
Signing Declaration of Independence 
The Silver Inkstand .... 

Andre’s Monument at Tarrytown . 

Tower of Main Building, University of Pc 
Village of Manhatoes Indians 


‘.u vania 


New York in 1660 ..... 

The House into which the Last Shot of the 
Fired ...... 

Lord Cornwallis. 


Revolution was 







STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


OUR FOREST HERO 

A long time ago there was a man in England 
who left a splendid castle and went to live in the 
woods with a band of merry men. 

Under the grand old oak trees of Sherwood 
forest this man and his sturdy followers had gay 
times. H is name was Robin Hood. He was 
very brave. Nobody could frighten bold Robin, 
not even the king. 

All the poor of England loved this forest hero 
because he was kind to them and defied bad laws 
which made them suffer. 

Hundreds of years have passed since Robin 
Hood died, but England loves her Robin yet. 
Indeed, the whole world likes to read of his 
pranks, and delights in his gayety and daring. 



12 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Charming stories and songs and poems are still 
written about him. 

America has a forest hero who reminds the 
world of Robin Hood. Sometimes they call him 
the Robin Hood of America. He, too, had a 
band of merry men who fought in the forest in 
the Green Mountains of Vermont. His name 
was Ethan Allen, and his band of men was called 
“ The Green Mountain Boys.” 

Like Robin Hood, our forest hero was as full 
of mischievous pranks as a boy, but few men 
ever excelled him in daring acts and brave deeds. 
He, too, with his little band, defied all England, 
refusing flatly to obey some bad laws of the king 
and Parliament. For this, once more like Robin 
Hood, he was declared an outlaw, and rewards 
were offered for his head, and royal governors 
sent sheriffs to arrest him. Also, like Robin 
Hood, he laughed in the very faces of the sher¬ 
iffs and mockingly asked: — 

“ How will they manage to hang a Green 
Mountain Boy before they catch him ? ” 

The king’s governor in New York was set to 
the task of arresting Ethan Allen. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


13 


When the forest chief was told of this, he 
snapped his fingers. 

“That for the governor of New York!” he 
cried. “ I’ll bet I can ride to Albany in broad 
daylight, stop for a bowl of punch, and get back 
to Bennington unharmed.” 

The bet was taken, and news flew to Albany 
that the forest chief expected to run the risk. 

It is thirty miles from Bennington, Vermont, 
to Albany, New York, and most of that thirty 
miles was in the country of the enemy, but the 
bold, jolly outlaw did it. He knew the people 
would protect him from all officials of the king. 

A great crowd had gathered in front of a well- 
known tavern, bent on seeing the defiant forest 
chief carry out his saucy bet. 

Wildly they cheered when he came gayly 
dashing through the throng, knowing well that 
the sheriff of Albany County was in it. 

He tied his horse with deliberate slowness, 
while mischief and defiance blended in the glance 
with which he surveyed the crowd. 

Soon he came out with a steaming bowl of 
punch in his hand, and the laughing people 


14 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


saw him drink it in most leisurely manner, 
fun bubbling from every part of him while he 
did it. 

They cheered again and again when he fin¬ 
ished and went in with his bowl. 

As he mounted his horse to ride away to the 
woods again, he drew his great sword, and swing¬ 
ing it about his head he shouted, “ Huzza for the 
Green Mountain Boys! ” then galloped out of 
Albany, followed by the cheers and laughter of 
the people. 

Although a very bold and daring man, our 
forest chief was full of these boyish pranks. He 
was so funny that sheriffs who went to arrest 
him, and the king who offered rewards for his 
head, laughed at the tricks he played on them. 
They could not help it. 

The punishments he put on the enemies of 
Vermont were generally more laughable than 
cruel. 

In Bennington was a tavern, called “ Cat 
Tavern,” because it had a stuffed catamount for 
a sign. 

Ethan Allen’s jolly but determined men turned 


OUR FOREST HERO 


15 

the face of this creature toward New York so 
it would grin eternal defiance at that colony. 

In Cat Tavern the forest chief and his captains 
made many bold plans to defeat the schemes of 
their grasping old king over the Atlantic. With 
grim humor it came to be said that when Ethan 
Allen, Remember Baker, and Seth Warner were 
in council at Cat Tavern that four catamounts 
shadowed the place — one outside and three in. 

“ Put him up beside the cat,” was the forest 
chiefs command when Dr. Adams of Arlington 
was brought to him for using all his influence 
against the Green Mountain Boys and speaking 
most scornfully of the band. 

One day, therefore, a great crowd surrounded 
the mountain inn. Four sturdy Green Moun¬ 
tain Boys came presently dragging the dapper 
little doctor. The landlord, grinning broadly, 
brought out an arm-chair, and, yelling louder 
than a horde of savage catamounts, they hoisted 
their critic up beside the creature. 

“ Let him stay there until he mends his 
speech,” was the next command of the chief; so 
hour after hour that strange pair, the surly 


16 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

Tory and the grinning catamount, sat side by 
side. 

Crowds came and jeered, and boys mocked, call¬ 
ing the doctor “traitor,” “Tory,” “king’s friend,” 
and other names, besides advising him to get out 
of The Grants, if he could not be loyal to the 
people who had made them what they were. 

After a while the doctor had had enough. He 
was quite ready to promise that so long as he 
remained a resident of The Grants he would 
mend his speech to suit the forest chief. 

Numberless stories are told which bring the 
bluff, bold mountain chief back in flesh and 
blood. When the colonies all rose in arms 
against England, the king wanted to hold The 
Grants, as Vermont was then called, loyal to 
the old country. Our forest chief was a “ man 
to bribe,” and an agent was promptly sent to 
offer him the great title, Duke of Vermont, 
with promise that he might always rule the 
region in his own way. 

“Your king reminds me of a personage who 
offered our Saviour the kingdom of heaven, 
well knowing that he didn’t own a foot of it,” 


OUR FOREST HERO 


17 


was the scorching reply of this untemptable 
patriot. 

The rugged honor of this forest chief of ours 
is worth stopping to think about. It came out 
in court one day. A man had sued him for debt. 
The lawyer who defended Mr. Allen tried a trick 
of law to free his client from payment, claiming 
that the signature to the note was not Mr. Allen’s. 
Our sturdy hero strode forward. 

“ Mr. -, I did not employ you to come 

here and lie. I employed you to tell the truth. 
The note is a true one. The signature is mine. 
All I ask is time to pay it,” was the stern 
rebuke. 

The judge granted his wish. 

It was serious business, not sport, which took 
Ethan Allen to the woods and made him chief 
of a forest band. 

Generally it is a disgrace to be an outlaw, but 
not always. Ethan Allen was right in being 
one. The laws he refused to obey were bad 
ones, and the men who are brave enough to stand 
up and defy bad laws and rulers are the ones 
who keep the world from becoming very wicked. 



18 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

A Great Wrong 

To learn about our forest hero we must study 
the wild times of early Vermont. 

In that long past it was a mighty wilderness. 
Only Indians and wild beasts made a home there. 
It was considered part of New Hampshire. 

No white settlements of any account had been 
made, but in the year 1759 white men were 
marching through the narrow Indian trails along 
the streams. They were Yankee soldiers on 
their way to fight Montcalm at Quebec. 

The soldiers looked at the green hills and 
greener valleys. This land would make better 
farms than their rocky soil in Connecticut or 
Massachusetts; so when the French and Indian 
War was over, they bought land from the gov¬ 
ernor of New Hampshire who was authorized by 
the king to sell. 

Leaving wife and children in the old home, 
they set out with axe in hand to face the uncon¬ 
quered forest alone. 

They built small log cabins in the deep woods. 
These cabins were far apart, so it was a lonely life. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


19 


By spring they had cut down many trees and 
cleared a little land which they planted. After 
harvest, these toilers tramped south to their old 
homes again. 

Some of them stayed there all winter, but when 
snow went, they set out once more for the wilder¬ 
ness. Ox carts took household goods this time. 
Cows and sheep were driven behind. Wife and 
children went too. 

At times the forest was so thick that fathers 
and big brothers had to cut away for the ox cart. 

Thus early settlers toiled and suffered to gain 
homes in the wilderness. In a few years the 
thick forests about their cabin homes had become 
beautiful farms. 

These farms were called “The Grants” be¬ 
cause the royal governor of New Hampshire had 
granted and sold the land. 

People on The Grants were happy in their 
new homes. After all their toil and sacrifice 
they had a right to be. 

One day all their happiness was turned to 
grief. A great wrong had been done to people 
on The Grants. 


20 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Each settler received a notice from the king’s 
sheriff. This notice told the brave pioneer that 
his farm had been given away to a friend of the 
king. • He must buy his home again and pay the 
new owner not only the original price of the farm, 
but also for the improvements he himself had 
worked so hard to make. If the settlers were 
unable to find sufficient money to buy again, 
they were ordered to leave their homes and in¬ 
formed that the new proprietor would sell to 
whom he pleased. The king’s officers in New 
York were to see that it was done. 

Any one would be right in not obeying rulers 
so unjust. People on The Grants very properly 
refused to give up their homes. This is why 
many early settlers in Vermont became outlaws. 

Before throwing aside his laws, people on The 
Grants sent a man to London to see the king. 
This man died in England, and nothing was done. 

Next they sent a tall, broad-shouldered man to 
Albany to plead with the royal officials. 

I wish I could tell you exactly how this man 
looked, for it was our forest hero himself. Some 
say that he was lionlike in appearance. Others 


OUR FOREST HERO 


21 


describe him as very large and very strong, with a 
handsome jolly face and twinkling blue eyes. 

I think the last was a very good description. 
We know that his wit was keen and that he was 
very strong and a natural leader of men. 

The hero pleaded the cause of the people well at 
Albany, and sent to Connecticut to get a noted 
lawyer to help him. It was all in vain. 

“ Go home and tell your people to make the 
best terms they can with their new landlords,” 
was the insolent advice given him. 

“ What! buy our homes again from those who 
would steal them! ” shouted angry Ethan Allen. 

“Might makes right,” retorted the king’s offi¬ 
cials. 

With flashing eyes the forest chief turned on 
them. 

“ The gods of the valley are not the gods of 
the hills,” was the true Robin Hood reply. 

There must have been threat in his tone, for 
the officers of the king demanded promptly what 
he meant by that. 

“Come with me to Bennington Hill and the 
meaning shall be clear to you,” replied Allen, and 


22 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


his eye still flashed as he turned his back and 
strode out of the presence of the royal minions, 
every footfall ringing defiance. 

The Green Mountain Boys 

England’s laws nevermore ruled people on 
The Grants. Ethan Allen went home with a 
storm of rebellion in his heart. 

He sent word to the people that printed notices 
of death would not kill them. He advised them 
to pay no attention to any summons to quit their 
homes. 

A little later the narrow paths of the forest 
were full of men hastening to one central point, 
and there was a great meeting under the trees. 
Strong, broad-shouldered, and brave were the 
determined men who met there. Little cared 
they for an unjust king far over the sea, and the 
whole world has feared tyrants less since that 
band of forest men defied King George the 
Third. 

They formed themselves into military com¬ 
panies. Each company had its own captain, 
while Ethan Allen was put at the head with title 
of colonel. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


23 


“I’ll drive them into the Green Mountains,” 
threatened Lord Dunmore, the king’s governor 
in New York. 

“Hurrah!” cried the forest soldiers. “We 
have a name. We will be called the ‘ Green 
Mountain Boys.’” 

The King’s Seal and the Beech Seal 

New York officials tried to obey the king 
and his Parliament. When the men to whom 
the king had given the land wanted it parcelled 
off into lots convenient to sell for building sites, 
surveyors were sent to the farms of the people, 
but the surveyors did not make a very long 
stay. They found Green Mountain Boys at 
their heels before they had come many miles 
over the New York line, and if running had 
not been part of their education, they were in 
the grip of the forest band and wished they 
were not. 

Then gentlemen having deeds of the land 
with the king’s seal on them pompously showed 
the seals to the forest chief. He laughed in 
their faces. 


24 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


“ We have a seal on The Grants more legal 
than the Kings Seal We seal our deeds with 
twigs of the forest. Do you hear? We call 
it the ‘ beech seal.’ Do you hear that, too ? 
Get out of these grants or it shall be given to 
you.” 

He seldom had to ask if they heard the last. 
They never made slow work of getting out of 
The Grants, for the beech seal was a very long 
switch freshly cut from a beech tree, and the 
Green Mountain Boys did not hesitate to lay 
it smartly on the bare back of any one — be he 
king’s constable or nobleman’s surveyor — who 
attempted to take the homes they had not only 
bought but toiled so hard to make into fine 
farms. Forty less one stripes was the rule. 

Next Lord Dunmore sent sheriffs to read the 
king’s law to this hardy band of mountain rebels, 
but the sheriffs knew enough to stand off at 
safe distance, in fact so far away that they had 
to shout the law at the top of their voices, for 
right well they knew that the forest chief and 
his band would not hesitate for a moment to 
whip a sheriff if they laid hands on him. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


25 


As it was, these forest soldiers groaned so 
loudly at the king’s bad laws that no one could 
hear a word of what was read. They were not 
going to listen to unjust laws against them¬ 
selves, but the sheriffs who did the reading 
were compelled to see something. Behind 
every rock and bush they saw long switches in 
the hands of determined men, and it is more 
than suspected that king’s officers though they 
were, they sympathized with the men who held 
the switches. These sheriffs did not linger in 
the Green Mountains. They did their duty as 
quickly as possible, and then turned their horses 
back to Albany to report nothing but failure. 

Locking up the King’s Judges 

As the Green Mountain Boys would not 
listen to the law, Lord Dunmore determined to 
send a court to try leaders of this defiant moun¬ 
tain band. 

Two very dignified judges set out from 
Albany one day. Servants carried wigs and 
gowns, and there were court officers with them 
and a sheriff and a deputy sheriff in command 


2 6 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


of about seven hundred soldiers to protect this 
court. Through the beautiful forest went this 
great company in most martial style, and, think¬ 
ing they were making an awesome impression 
on the natives, they proceeded to Town No. i, 
now Westminster. There was a little court¬ 
house in the place in front of which they 
halted in less dignified manner than they in¬ 
tended, for the court-house was full of armed 
men and there was a fight with the soldiers. 
A Green Mountain Boy by the name of William 
French was killed and — but let us skip a few 
days, for it will be more fun to see how some 
news was received in Albany. 

All the people were laughing in Albany, and 
the king’s officials were raging with anger. 
The soldiers who had been sent to protect the 
learned judges of the king were coming back 
in little squads, but no sheriffs came with them 
and not a court official or a judge appeared. 

Did ever soldiers have a funnier tale to tell ? 
The distinguished judges of the king on whom 
the people were expected to look with greatest 
awe, the judges who had come in such great 


OUR FOREST HERO 


2 7 


state to try the mountain rebels, had been tried 
themselves for no less serious offence than the 
murder of French. 

Lord Dunmore could not believe it. “ Where 
are they now ? ” he demanded, referring to his 
judges. 

“ Locked up in a little forest jail, your Excel¬ 
lency,” replied the officer. 

“ What, you mean to tell me that the king’s 
own judges have been locked up by those ras¬ 
cally mountaineers?” roared the governor. 

“Yes, your Excellency.” 

“ What do the outlaws propose to do with such 
prisoners ? ” 

The soldier shrugged his shoulders. “ Hang 
or whip them as they do the others, I suppose,” 
he answered finally. 

“ Who was the judge ? ” next demanded the 
royal governor. 

The officer laughed. “ They elected one of 
their own band to be judge. A jury was regu¬ 
larly appointed.” 

“ Where did this outlandish trial take place ? ” 

“ In the same court-house in which we intended 


28 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

to condemn the Green Mountain Boys, your 
Excellency.” 

The royal governor was anxious. “ What 
would happen next ? It would be an awful dis¬ 
grace if the king’s own judges should be whipped 
by those mountain men. Again, suppose the 
story should get to England. The king would 
be furious, and people would laugh as they 
laughed in Albany. Then — that awful moun¬ 
tain chief might hang the dignitaries.” 

The more he thought, the more worried Lord 
Dunmore became. He humbly promised Ethan 
Allen that the judges and sheriffs should be pun¬ 
ished if the Green Mountain Boys would deliver 
them to him. 

Our forest hero promptly escorted the prisoners 
to what he called the New York line and de¬ 
livered them to the king’s officials; but those 
gentlemen were never punished. 

By this time all the colonies and all England 
were talking of the defiant forest chief and his 
brave men. 



Woods in Which Green Mountain Boys Lived 











OUR FOREST HERO 


29 

Forest Trials and Border Warfare 

Whole regiments of soldiers marched through 
the great forest to put rightful owners out of 
their homes. Every time they found the little 
farm protected by stalwart men with rifles, and 
they marched back to New York faster than they 
came. A Green Mountain Boy seldom used his 
rifle, but right well the king’s soldiers knew his 
aim was deadly when he did. 

“ What is your name ? ” demanded a burly 
Englishman who determined to take up the land 
in The Grants and who was enjoying a visit from 
ten armed Green Mountain Boys. 

“ Who gave you authority to ask my name ? ” 
asked the leader of this band. 

“ I wish to report you to Colonel Reid. I sup¬ 
pose you know it is death to lead a lawless mob?” 

“ Colonel Reid ! ” mocked Ethan Allen, for the 
leader was our forest chief himself. “ I wish we 
could catch him. We would whip him well. 
My name is Ethan Allen. I am captain of this 
mob. My authority is my own arms. I have 
run these woods for seven years and am not hung 


30 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

yet. If you or Colonel Reid attempt to take 
possession of any part of these Grants again, we 

will burn your house and whip you into the bar- 

• >> 
gam. 

Colonel Reid’s settlers concluded that The 
Grants would not be a comfortable place in which 
to settle. 

To get the reward offered for the capture of a 
leader of the forest band, one of the king’s con¬ 
stables, a little braver than most of them, broke 
into the house of Captain Remember Baker, with 
ten men. There was a sharp struggle. Mr. 
Baker and his wife and young son were all 
wounded. 

They thrust the bleeding Green Mountain Boy 
into a sleigh, and started for Albany. 

The constable’s name was Munro. He was 
pleased with the prospect of reward and the glory 
of capturing a captain of this far-famed mountain 
band. Sometimes he looked back as the sleigh 
sped swiftly toward Albany jail with its wounded 
prisoner. Nothing was to be seen but a cold 
white forest and bright stars. “ Ha! all is safe,” 
he thought. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


31 


Suddenly several of his men who were riding 
in front gave a cry of horror and fled for their 
lives. There riding leisurely to meet them was 
a band of those terrible Green Mountain Boys. 
They had taken a shorter route and come to 
rescue their comrade. 

Mr. Baker was so weak that he had to be 
lifted to his horse, but that was tenderly done. 
Munro was taken prisoner and later given the 
beech seal to the extent of two hundred stripes. 

There was no deceiving the Green Mountain 
Boys — there was no outwitting them. 

Before he was punished, every man was granted 
a trial; and those forest trials were sometimes 
amusing. 

A wide-spreading tree was the court-room. 
The leader of the party who captured the culprit 
was generally judge. Any one who knew about 
the prisoner could bear witness. The sort of 
punishment to be meted out was decided 
quickly. 

Sometimes they tied the guilty man to a tree 
and let him visit the catamounts for a night. 
Sometimes they gave him a ducking. Generally 


32 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


the offender got the beech seal — forty less one 
stripes on his bare back. 

Trial and punishment over, the judge wrote 
a pass to take the prisoner safely to New York. 

When Munro was tried, Ethan Allen himself 
was judge. The prisoner had made much trouble 
on The Grants. He had been severely whipped. 
When the forest chief handed this man the usual 
passport, he said grimly: — 

“ That with the certificate on your back will 
take you safely out of The Grants.” 

Long years those forest trials and this border 
warfare went on. Fame of the beech seal spread 
far. People in what is now Vermont spoke 
scornfully of people in New York as “Yorkers,” 
and the king’s friends in New York called people 
on The Grants “ wild mountaineers.” 

This war was more funny than bloody. Few 
people have upheld their rights against such 
great power with so little use of the rifle. 

All honor to the beech seal and the bloodless 
part it played in American independence. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


33 


A Meeting in a Barn 

One day some of the Green Mountain Boys 
held a secret meeting. An old story says it was 
in a barn in Bennington. 

At the barn door stood Ethan Allen. He 
held it open just far enough for the men to enter 
one at a time. 

Not even a Green Mountain Boy could go 
past the chief without whispering a password in 
his ear. The password was “ Carillon.” 

What does Carillon mean, and what were the 
Green Mountain Boys going to do now? 

Carillon was the former name of a fort on 
Lake Champlain. It had been renamed Ticon- 
deroga. Ethan Allen’s merry men called it 
“Old Ti.” 

To find out what this very secret meeting in 
the barn was for, we must look around a little. 

Twelve years had passed since members of 
this bold mountain band defied all England to 
take their homes. 

The homes were still theirs. Ethan Allen 
and his captains were still outlaws, and people 


34 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


on The Grants still laughed at New York’s 
attempt to rule them in the name of the 
king. 

During those twelve years, England had made 
every one of her American colonies angry. They 
determined to throw off her rule. Our great war 
for freedom, the Revolution, had begun. 

People on The Grants hardly knew what to 
do. They were not a colony. “ Should they 
join Canada and remain under English rule, or 
should they fight with and not against despised 
Yorkers ? ” 

We are told that the people were almost dis¬ 
tracted trying to make up their minds. 

The question was finally settled by Old Ti 
and another fort called Crown Point. 

Whoever held Old Ti had a waterway into 
the colonies. It was called the “ Key to the 
Continent.” 

Indians and white men, French and English, 
had battled for it in times past. It belonged to 
England at the time of the meeting in that barn. 

Many of the Green Mountain Boys were old 
soldiers. They had helped take Old Ti for 



Ethan Allen’s Entrance at Fort Ticonderoga. 



j; 

■ 























. 




































' 












•• 









OUR FOREST HERO 


35 


England. None knew its mighty strength 
better than they. 

In that barn there was little talk of taking Old 
Ti for England now. Most earnestly they did 
talk about the great war which had begun. 

Ethan Allen said England was trying to 
enslave free America. 

That settled the Green Mountain Boys. They 
decided to fight for freedom and seize Ticon- 
deroga for the struggling colonies. 

At the Call of the Chief 

It must be done at once. The fort was weak 
now, with few men to guard it. If they waited 
until England had time to strengthen her, Ticon- 
deroga would be hard to take. Thousands of 
lives must be sacrificed, and a long siege 
endured. 

Soon after the meeting in that barn, messengers 
came from the colony of Connecticut to beg that 
the Green Mountain Boys take both forts on Lake 
Champlain. 

Ethan Allen set out for the north immediately. 
He stopped at a little hamlet named Castleton. 


36 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

It was five miles from Shoreham where they 
crossed the lake to Ticonderoga. 

From Castleton he sent out messengers to the 
far scattered cabins of each Green Mountain 
Boy. 

Nothing in history is more wonderful than the 
promptness with which these forest soldiers gath¬ 
ered at the call of their chief. 

An officer of long experience tells me that under 
most favorable circumstances it would take the 
United States government at least two weeks to 
enlist and equip a very small army. Generally it 
takes longer, and the government has telegraphs, 
railroads, steamboats, and vast wealth. 

Ethan Allen had none of these things. There 
were no railroads, there was no telegraph. There 
were no post-offices, no mails, and no stages. The 
few roads were very rough. Not even saddle- 
horses had a path to the cabin homes of the 
Green Mountain Boys. But one rough road led 
to the forts. 

The messengers sent to raise the little army 
had no way to go except on foot. The speed 
they made is almost past belief. Major Beach, one 


OUR FOREST HERO 


37 


of the messengers sent out from Castleton, walked 
sixty miles in twenty-four hours without stopping 
to rest. Then probably he threw himself on the 
green turf, with a big root of a tree for a pillow, 
and went to sleep. Was not that a wonderful 
walk? Were not these Brave Old Times? 

It was only three days after Ethan Allen went 
to Castleton before a little army stood opposite 
Ticonderoga, armed, provisioned, and ready for 
work. Many of the men were as swift of foot 
as Major Beach. Most of them were obliged to 
walk from thirty to sixty miles. 

In the Cabin Home 

Let us look into the cabin home of the Green 
Mountain Boy who had been summoned. 

Perhaps it was midnight. The family was 
asleep. 

There was a knock. 

“Who is it?” 

A low birdlike whistle answered. 

The Green Mountain Boy knew that whistle 
well. A messenger from the chief was at his 
door. The messenger entered. 


38 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

“ What’s on hand ? ” was the greeting. 

“ Old Ti! We are to surprise and take her 
for the colonies.” 

Perhaps the settler did not know that war 
for freedom had come. 

Hastily the messenger told him. 

“ Who commands ? ” was the Green Moun¬ 
tain Boy’s next question. 

“ Old Thunderbolt [Ethan Allen] himself. 
Will you meet him at Shoreham by the 
eighth ? ” 

“ Hm! That means start now;” and nodding 
a jolly “ yes,” the Green Mountain Boy began 
to fill his powder-horn. The messenger was 
answered, and rushed on to warn the next. 

Now there was a busy scene in that forest 
cabin. The wife filled a knapsack with food, 
then with trembling fingers she rolled up some 
soft linen and tucked it in the pocket of her 
husband’s buckskin jacket. 

A quick good-by followed. A kiss dropped 
softly on the cheeks of children too young to be 
wakened, and our citizen soldier strode off into 
the night to make a bold stroke for freedom. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


39 


He, too, had a walk of forty or fifty miles, 
but the Green Mountain Boy thought nothing 
of that. 

The stars looked down on several hundred 
forest paths in The Grants that night. In most 
of those paths a Green Mountain Boy was strid¬ 
ing to the one road which led north. 

Such were our forefathers. It is not always 
that a nation has men so clear of brain and 
strong of arm to do her fighting. 

A Colonel with a Servant 

When they got to Castleton, the Green Moun¬ 
tain Boys began to see that they were engaged 
in something more serious than chasing Yorkers 
off their farms. Forty men from Berkshire 
Hills and from Connecticut had come to join 
them. 

Ethan Allen was elected first, and Seth Warner 
second, in command. 

They had hardly done this before something 
happened which surprised the forest soldiers 
much. 

A horseman rode into the woods where they 


40 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


were gathered. He was a handsome man in 
the fine uniform of an officer, and was attended 
by a servant. 

When this horseman rode up to Seth Warner, 
the men coolly crowded around to hear what 
he had to say. 

Those who could not get near enough to hear 
the stranger, questioned the servant. 

They asked the latter who he was, what he 
wanted, and where he left his rifle. 

When they found out that he was not a sol¬ 
dier, but a servant, those hardy Green Moun¬ 
tain soldiers did not attempt to conceal their 
amusement. A gentleman with a servant was 
something new to these men in buckskin. They 
began to joke. 

“ So you dress that fellow up so fine ? ” they 
asked the servant. 

“ Do you wash his face and comb his hair ? ” 

“ Who is he, and what does he want, anyway? ” 

The servant told them that his master’s name 
was Benedict Arnold, but he was too shrewd to 
tell those forest soldiers what Arnold wanted. 

Soon there was a howl of rage. All knew what 


OUR FOREST HERO 


41 


the stranger wanted. He took a paper from his 
pocket and told them he had come to command 
the expedition. 

The paper was a commission from the Mas¬ 
sachusetts Committee of Safety, authorizing 
Benedict Arnold to raise a company and take 
Ticonderoga. 

“ But,” said Seth Warner, “ you have not 
raised a company. Colonel Ethan Allen raised 
this regiment, and he will command it.” 

Arnold persisted, and haughtily told the officers 
that he was commander. 

Great excitement followed. The men threw 
down their arms and declared they would not 
fight unless their own chief commanded. 

The chief was soon on the scene. He made 
short work of Benedict Arnold and that gentle¬ 
man’s week-old title of Colonel. 

The men were assured that no one should 
lead them but their own chief. Arnold was 
informed that the only way he could go was as 
a volunteer. He consented to do it. 


42 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Old Ti 

Through the night men had been coming in 
little squads to Shoreham, and they hid in a 
ravine. 

Soon after midnight two hundred and seventy 
were there. Even in the dark it looked like an 
army of strong, brave men. They seemed more 
like a band of mighty hunters than obedient 
soldiers. 

Joking stopped now. Work was in sight. 
Two miles across the lake, Ticonderoga rose 
grimly on the steep hill. 

Its force might be weak and its ammunition 
damaged, but Old Ti’s walls were strong. Some 
expected to lay down their lives to take it. 

What troubled the leader was lack of means 
to get across the lake. A party sent to seize 
boats had not yet returned. 

An hour before daylight, men came with a few 
boats. The way they got them was as daring as 
the rest of this very daring expedition. 

They went to the British fort, Crown Point, 
and promised the negro in charge of the boats 


OUR FOREST HERO 


43 


there a jug of rum if he would row them to 
Shoreham. They told him they were on a 
squirrel hunt. The negro came out and un¬ 
locked some boats, to find himself a prisoner 
with his jug. 

There were not enough boats to take all the 
men across the lake. It was almost daylight 
when eighty-three stood about the chief under 
the shadow of Old Ti. Colonel Allen dared not 
wait for more to be brought over. 

He motioned his eighty-three men into line, 
and then going rapidly down the ranks he told 
them in whispered tones that he must risk 
taking the fort with the force he had. He added 
that they were going into danger, and told any 
man that he was at liberty to step out of the 
ranks. 

Not a man wished to do it. 

The leader then went to the head. Contrary 
to his promise, Benedict Arnold again claimed 
first place. 

“ What shall I do with this rascal ? Shall I 
put him under guard ? ” furiously demanded Allen 
of Amos Callender. 


44 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


“ Hush ! ” whispered Callender. “ If you anger 
the men now, they will pitch him into the lake; 
we have no time for a scene. Let him walk 
beside you.” And with a disgusted grunt 
Colonel Allen assented. 

At Shoreham they had picked up young 
Nathan Beeman, who had often crossed the lake 
to play about the fort. Nathan knew every 
secret corner in Old Ti. No better guide could 
have been found. 

Daylight was coming when the long file began 
to creep up the steep hill. The lake and forest 
must have been very beautiful that dewy May 
morning. Not a word was spoken. Every step 
was soft as an Indian’s. 

The file crept around to a gate where a sleepy 

sentinel opened his eyes to gaze at an enemy 

\ 

upon him. 

The soldier did his best. He snapped his 
fusee at Colonel Allen, and the forest chief 
returned the compliment with a sword thrust. 
The gun missed fire, and the blade made only a 
slight scratch. The sentinel fled. 

Our Green Mountain Boys rushed into the 


OUR FOREST HERO 


45 


parade-ground, yelling with all their might. 
Half-dressed men appeared to find out what was 
the matter. As fast as they came they were 
taken prisoners. 

Guided by young Beeman, Colonel Allen 
rushed to the sleeping apartment of Colonel 
Delaplace, commander of the garrison. 

He pounded on the door with the hilt of his 
sword. 

“ Come out immediately, or your whole gar¬ 
rison will be sacrificed,” he shouted. 

Colonel Delaplace and his young wife had 
been wakened by the noise. The British officer 
came to the door with his clothes in his hand. 

Colonel Allen and Colonel Delaplace were old 
acquaintances. The latter was much surprised 
to see who it was. 

“You, Allen! What are you doing here at 
this time of night ? ” 

The forest chief pointed to his men, and there 
was determination in his eye as he said: — 

“ I order you to surrender immediately ! ” 

“ By what authority ? ” very properly de¬ 
manded Colonel Delaplace. 


46 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

Colonel Allen and one of his men both 
declared that he replied, “ In the name of the 
Great Jehovah and the Continental Congress.” 
It is also asserted that he said to Colonel Dela- 
place, “Come out of this, you blanked old rat.” 
Some other things are added to this last. I 
think he said both, and am sure he did not say 
the last in a vulgar way or the first in the silly, 
solemn manner in which the words have been 
put in his mouth. It was the half-jovial speech 
of one rough soldier to another. There was no 
Continental Congress in existence at the time. 
It did not convene until ten o’clock that day, 
and Ethan Allen knew it well. 

Perhaps Colonel Delaplace did not know 
whether there was a Continental Congress or 
not. He did know that Ethan Allen’s awful 
sword was swinging too near his head, and he 
knew that Allen was in earnest. 

Scrambling into some clothes, the British 
commander went down, ordered his men to 
parade without arms, and surrendered every¬ 
thing. 

The Green Mountain Boys were masters of 
Lake Champlain. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


47 


Cannon on the fort were loaded, and thundered 
out the victory to those under Warner who were 
now marching to reenforce the chief. 

“ They didn’t give us fight enough to whet our 
appetite for breakfast,” was Colonel Allen’s 
greeting to Warner. 

Captain Warner claimed Crown Point as his, 
and set out and took it with few men. 

The first victory of the Revolution had been 
won, and largely won, by a people who acknowl¬ 
edged no connection with the rebellious colonies, 
but who were to proudly join them later as the 
State of Vermont. 

Like most victories of the Green Mountain 
Boys, it was a bloodless victory. 

Of course there was great rejoicing throughout 
the colonies. Our forest chief and his band had 
won a nation’s gratitude forever. 

The Hero and the Preacher 

Rev. Mr. Dewey of Bennington gave notice 
that he would preach on the victory at Ticonde- 
roga, and the Green Mountain Boys with their 
chief were invited to be present. 


48 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

The minister made a long prayer, giving 
thanks to God for our victory, and never a word 
of mention did he give the Green Mountain 
Boys. 

Mr. Allen was displeased. He stood it as long 
as he could, and then called out: — 

“ Parson Dewey ! ” 

The minister kept on thanking God for our 
victory, and paid no attention. 

Again the forest chief called out: — 

“ Parson Dewey ! ” 

The minister continued his prayer, and did 
not even open his eyes. Colonel Allen jumped 
to his feet. 

“ Parson Dewey! Parson Dewey ! ” he roared. 

The minister was compelled to stop, and he 
stared angrily at the tall mountain chief. 

“ Please make mention that we were there,” 
commanded Allen, pointing to his men. 

He sat down, bowed his head, and stubborn 
Parson Dewey, who did not like Colonel Allen 
very well, surrendered as absolutely as the British 
at Old Ti. He politely included the Green 
Mountain Boys in the rest of his prayer. 



Ruins of Fort Ticonderoga. 







OUR FOREST HERO 


49 


A Famous Prisoner 

A few months after the capture of Ticonderoga 
our scene changes to Falmouth, England. 

A vast crowd stood on the shore of that port 
and was looking eagerly across the wide sea at a 
ship sailing into port. It was a British war-ship 
named the Adamant. The crowd was talking of 
what the babblers in it called “a mighty forest 
chief,” which the Adamant was bringing a pris¬ 
oner from America to England. 

Wonderful stories have been told about this 
forest chief. People in England had come to 
think of him as a giant so fierce and strong that 
a whole company of ordinary soldiers could 
hardly guard him. 

Then he had taken Ticonderoga at a stroke. 
Every ploughboy in Great Britain knew that Old 
Ti had cost England dear when she struggled for 
it in former wars. 

From housetops and other points they crowded 
to see him. They fought and pushed and scram¬ 
bled so eagerly that soldiers were obliged to force 
a passage with drawn swords. 


50 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

Of course they saw no giant. You know they 
saw a large, good-looking man, for you guess that 
the famous prisoner was no other than our forest 
hero, Colonel Ethan Allen. 

The man they saw was a wild-looking creature, 
but the wildness was all in his dress. Before 
he sailed Colonel Allen bought such clothes 
as he could. That was the dress of a Canadian 
woodsman. 

The jacket was made of the skin of an animal. 
The vest, the long stockings, and cap were all of 
coarse woollen material. 

He was heavily chained with shackles on both 
feet and hands. 

Not a word of insult was offered as this strange, 
shackled figure was led through the crowd, fol¬ 
lowed by the other prisoners. 

Englishmen love a brave man, and shackled or 
free, enemy or friend, they felt that the man led 
past them in chains was very brave. 

In whispers they said to one another, “ It is a 
shame to hang a man like that.” 

It was a mile to Pendennis Castle, the prison 
where those Americans were to be confined. 
People lined the whole route. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


51 


Our mountain chief marched through the 
crowd with step as proud as when he walked 
down a line of his own Green Mountain Boys. 

“ How came the hero of Ticonderoga here?” 
We must go back a little to find out. 

All America was in arms against England. 

When Ethan Allen saw that the Revolution 
had come, he planned to take Montreal. He 
failed because another officer did not keep his 
word. Our forest chief fell into the hands of the 
British, a prisoner. He was treated very cruelly 
on several British war-ships. 

An iron bar weighing thirty pounds was 
chained to his leg. He was thrust into a foul 
little dungeon with thirty-one other prisoners. 

Ethan Allen refused to go into the foul cell, 
and they had a hard time getting the big forest 
chief in there. 

The prisoners had all been put into the charge 
of a merchant named Brook Watson. Mr. Wat¬ 
son ordered the soldiers to get Colonel Allen in, 
dead or alive. At last the hero was forced into 
the cell at the point of the bayonet. 

“ I know you are only doing your duty,” he 


52 STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 

said to the soldiers. “ I do not blame you. I am 
only in dispute with that calico merchant who 
does not know how to treat a military gentle¬ 
man.” 

Mr. Watson did not like our hero any better 
for this nickname of calico merchant. 

Forty days the prisoners suffered terrible hard¬ 
ships in that dungeon. Little water was given to 
them, and there was nothing but foulest air to 
breathe. 

Not until the shores of England were seen did 
they take the prisoners on deck. You can im¬ 
agine their joy to breathe fresh air once more. 

At Pendennis Castle 

Brook Watson did not get the credit he ex¬ 
pected for his mean treatment of the American 
prisoners. 

The great mass of English people had become 
strangely interested in our forest hero; more in¬ 
terested in him, in fact, than in the man he con¬ 
temptuously called a calico merchant. 

Immense crowds came to see the famous 
prisoner. Some gentlemen told him one 


OUR FOREST HERO 


53 


day that they had come fifty miles to see 
him. 

The people asked him many and strange 
questions. Among other things they wanted to 
know what his occupation had been. 

It amused the prisoner, and he jokingly replied, 
“ I studied divinity in my youth, but now I am 
a conjurer by profession.” 

“You conjured wrong the time you were 
taken,” laughed the gentlemen. 

“ I own that I mistook a figure that time, but 
I conjured you out of Ticonderoga,” retorted 
our hero, who was never at loss for a saucy 
answer. 

The prison officials used to take him to walk 
on a spacious green, and English ladies and 
gentlemen of highest rank soon got into the 
habit of coming to joke and talk with the witty 
prisoner. 

Sometimes he made speeches, but more often 
he joked. 

People liked this joking so well that they said 
things to spur him to retort. 

“ I know Americans very well, and am certain 


54 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

they cannot bear the smell of powder,” called out 
a beardless youth. 

Ethan Allen’s merry eyes were on him in a 
moment. “ I am an American, I accept your 
challenge, and am ready to convince you that an 
American can bear the smell of powder,” retorted 
our hero. 

The young man excused himself amid the 
laughter of the people. 

Colonel Allen then demanded that the young 
man should treat Americans with more respect. 

“You are not an American. You are an 
Irishman,” retorted the youth. 

“ I am a full-blooded Yankee,” replied Allen; 
and then he joked the young man so wittily 
that the laugh went against the latter, and 
Colonel Allen held the admiration of the 
crowd. 

Our forest chief could make a fine speech, 
full of sense and wit. He was eloquent on the 
subject of liberty. He told those crowds of 
Englishmen that they could never conquer 
America. 

It must have been a queer sight to see a 


OUR FOREST HERO 


55 


chained prisoner, in the shaggy dress of a wild 
man, making defiant speeches on freedom to 
the enemies of freedom. His fame grew fast, 
and crowds were greater every day. 

The commander of the prison sent Colonel 
Allen a fine breakfast and dinner from his own 
table each day, and a gentleman who lived near 
sent his supper. 

However, with all this kindness the prisoner 
says they were “continually flinging the halter” 
at him. He resolved on a little scheme to save 
his life. 

He wrote a letter addressed to the American 
Congress, which he really intended for Lord 
North, prime minister of England. 

In this letter he told how cruelly American 
prisoners had been treated, and advised our Con¬ 
gress to treat British prisoners in the same 
manner. 

The next day the officer who had permitted 
Colonel Allen to write the letter reproved him 
angrily for its impudence. He asked: — 

“ Do you think we are fools in England, to 
send your letter to Congress with instructions 


56 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

to treat our own people badly? I have sent 
your letter to Lord North.” 

Colonel Allen pretended to be very angry, but 
he was very glad. The letter had gone to the 
person he intended it should reach. 

Back to America 

Ethan Allen was not confined long in Pen- 
dennis Castle. While he was in prison things 
had been happening in America. 

Montreal and St. John had fallen into the 
hands of Americans. The very officers who 
took Allen were prisoners themselves. 

England dared not hang him as a rebel. 

He was also exciting too much interest among 
all classes of English people to suit the govern¬ 
ment. It was decided to send the forest chief 
back to his own country, and his men with 
him. They were to be held as prisoners of 
war. 

The Soleby carried them to Ireland. There 
they joined Cornwallis’s fleet, now on its way 
to humble America. 

The officers were very rude to Colonel Allen. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


57 


They boasted that Britain would soon conquer 
America and hang him. 

He retorted that if they waited until Britain 
conquered America before they hung him he 
would die of old age. 

The captain ordered him from deck, saying: — 

“ This is a place for gentlemen to walk.” 

Colonel Allen was sick, and for the first time 
discouraged. He left the deck without a word. 

Two days the big, genial man moped. He 
could see nothing but death before him. 

The third day our fallen chief felt better. His 
old saucy defiance of England returned. 

He wanted fresh air. He shaved and dressed 
as well as he could and went on deck. 

“ I ordered you not to appear on this deck,” 
stormed the captain. 

“ I heard such an order,” retorted Allen, “ but 
at the same time you said it was the place for 
gentlemen to walk. I am Colonel Allen, a 
gentleman; I claim the privilege of my rank.” 

The captain said some rough things in reply, 
but did not again forbid Colonel Allen’s going 
on deck. He said pompously: — 


58 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

“ Never appear on the same side with me.” 

Great crowds came to see the prisoners in 
Cork, Ireland. 

The Irish sent gifts to Allen and all his men. 
Each private received a suit of clothes, and tea 
and sugar. Colonel Allen had fine broadcloth 
for two full suits, besides good things to eat. 
The food was taken away from all by the surly 
captain. 

Forty-four ships set sail from Cork one fine 
morning. They carried Cornwallis’s army to 
war against our brave forefathers. They also 
took back the prisoners who had roused all 
England. 

There was more suffering on several more 
war-ships. Finally Ethan Allen found himself 
in jail in Halifax. 

He was glad to get into jail to escape further 
cruelty at the hands of English naval officers. 

When news reached America that Ethan Allen 
was in jail in Halifax, measures were set on foot 
to exchange him for some English officer. 

This was not arranged before he was once 
more ordered on board a British war-ship. 


OUR FOREST HERO 


59 


Our hero had suffered so much that he ex¬ 
pected nothing but cruelty. Great was his sur¬ 
prise to be met by the captain with outstretched 
hand and a pleasant smile. 

“ Colonel Allen, may I have the pleasure of 
your company to dinner?” inquired this manly 
British officer. 

Tears rolled down the cheeks of this brave, 
but broken hero. 

“ My situation is such that I cannot reward 
you,” he replied at last in a trembling voice. 

“ I want no reward, but I intend to treat you 
like a gentleman,” was the answer. 

This ship took Colonel Allen to New York, 
and he was soon exchanged. 

Home Again 

Our forest hero’s first act was to ride to Val¬ 
ley Forge to thank Washington. Wherever he 
stopped, people flocked to see him. 

He did not linger. His heart yearned for 
home, and he immediately set out for it. 

Many changes had taken place since he left 
the hills of Bennington. What had been called 


6o 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


The Grants was now beautifully and appropri¬ 
ately named Vermont (green mountain). 

At evening, the last day of May, the forest 
chief rode into Bennington. No one knew that 
he was coming. Those who saw him first had 
to look twice to recognize their former chief in 
the shrunken prisoner. 

News that Ethan Allen was home from his 
cruel imprisonment spread rapidly. From house 
to house it was shouted. Neighbor ran to tell 
neighbor, and then all dropped work and hastened 
to greet him. 

His home was surrounded. Joy was on every 
face. He had to tell and re-tell what he had been 
through. 

Old friends were not satisfied with hearty 
handshakes. After supper they went out on the 
village green and fired cannon in his honor. 

Next day the news travelled farther. From all 
over The Grants, Green Mountain Boys hurried 
to Bennington to greet the former chief. 

There was more celebrating. At evening all 
went again to the village green. 

Cannon once more sent their roar across the 


OUR FOREST HERO 


61 


hills. Fourteen rounds were fired. Thirteen 
were the salutes of the old thirteen colonies. 
One was the young State of Vermont’s greeting 
to this beloved son. 



Catamount Tavern 






























































62 


STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 


A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 
An Odd Wedding Journey 

Perhaps there was never a stranger wedding 
journey than one taken by a young couple in 
1772 up a mountain in Virginia. 

The snow lay three feet deep. Not even a 
sleigh could make way up the steep heights and 
over the unbroken mountain road. Both bride 
and groom were obliged to leave the carriage 
and struggle up the mountain, eight miles, on 
horseback. 

On the summit of a wooded height, five hun¬ 
dred feet above the sea, stood their home. They 
reached it about midnight. After such a cold, 
dark ride another disappointment seemed too 
much, but it awaited them. The mansion was 
quite dark. Servants had gone to their quarters, 
and were sound asleep. No fires blazed a 


A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 63 

cheery welcome. No feast was ready to refresh 
them. 

They have left record that the house was hor¬ 
ribly dreary after such a journey; still, Thomas 
Jefferson and his bride were in no dreary state of 
mind. Gayly they hunted around for a little 
food. A bottle of wine behind a bookcase was 
all the place afforded. This had to do for food 
and fire. Accounts tell us that it sufficed right 
well. The newly married pair sung and danced 
until the cold, dreary house echoed with their 
pranks. 

Jefferson built the house a year before he 
married the rich young widow, beautiful Martha 
Skelton. It was unfinished at the time of his 
marriage. 

Ten Years Later, at Monticello 

Ten years later there is a very different scene 
in the house on the mountain. It is the end of 
the marriage so interestingly begun. 

Thomas Jefferson is now a man of renown, but 
he has promised his stricken wife that no public 
service shall ever separate them again. For 


64 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

months he has never been beyond call to instant 
service. Constantly he has remained at her bed¬ 
side, or not farther off than in a little writing 
room at the head of her bed. At last, when she 
brokenly murmured that she could not bear the 
thought that her children should have a step¬ 
mother, this noble man gave her his hand and 
promised that they never should. Mr. Jefferson’s 
daughter gives a picture of devoted attention 
that goes well with other stories of brave old 
times. 

“ As a nurse,” she says, “ no female had more 
tenderness and anxiety. ... For the four months 
my mother lingered he was never out of call¬ 
ing. ... A moment before the closing scene he 
was led from the room in a state of insensibility 
by his sister, Mrs. Carr, who with difficulty got 
him to the library, where he fainted, and re¬ 
mained so long insensible that they feared he 
would never recover. The scene which followed 
I did not witness, but the violence of his emotion, 
when almost by stealth I entered his room at 
night, to this day I dare not trust myself to de¬ 
scribe. He kept his room three weeks, and I was 


A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 65 

never a moment from his side. . . . When at last 
he left his room, he rode out, and from that time 
he was incessantly on horseback, in the least fre¬ 
quented roads, and just as often through the 
woods. I was his constant companion, a solitary 
witness to many violent bursts of grief, the re¬ 
membrance of which has consecrated particular 
scenes of that lost home beyond the power of 
time to obliterate.” 

A Father of Brave Old Times 

The name of Thomas Jefferson is associated 
with some of the greatest scenes in American 
history, but nowhere does it shine brighter than 
in scraps of letters which reveal him as a 
father. 

When Mrs. Jefferson died their youngest 
child was only four years old. From the hour 
of her death until he too was called away, this 
distinguished man did not disdain to be both 
father and mother to his girls. This life devo¬ 
tion was repaid by a loving confidence which 
few fathers can win from a daughter. 

Randall, who has written so well of the third 


66 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


President, says: “ They ran to him with joys and 
fled to him to weep out girlish griefs on his 
bosom. He was their counsellor in every girlish 
doubt.” 

Mr. Jefferson woke from the stupor into which 
his wife’s death had thrown him to accept the 
post of envoy to France. Martha, the eldest 
daughter, accompanied him. Two little girls 
were left in the care of their aunt, Mrs. Eppes. 
The father had a hard time tearing himself 
away from them in the first place, and after one 
of them died, he was feverishly anxious that the 
other should be sent to him. 

Little Mary did not wish to leave the aunt 
she had learned to love. Her father tried to 
reconcile her by coaxing, and even bribing, but 
it was of no use. She scribbled in a childish 
letter that she wanted to see papa, and she 
wanted a doll, but he must come to Eppington 
and bring the doll. 

He fretted like a woman to have her take the 
voyage alone, but could not live without the 
child, so Mr. and Mrs. Eppes took her to New 
York and went on board ship with her. While 


A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 67 

she was asleep they slipped out and sent her 
across the Atlantic in double charge of a faith¬ 
ful black woman and the captain of the ship. 

After the first disappointment she grew so 
fond of the captain that when London was 
reached she did not want to leave him. 

In London Mrs. John Adams took charge 
of her, and when her father’s messenger came 
to take her to Paris, the affectionate child had 
learned to love Mrs. Adams so well that she 
refused to leave her, and according to a letter 
written about the time by the dignified lady, she 
herself was as loath to part with her lovable 
little charge as the child was to leave her. 

To the grief of her father she neither recog¬ 
nized him nor her sister ; but with her deeply 
loving nature she quickly responded to the pet¬ 
ting and the dolls, and was very happy with her 
only parent. So long as she lived she was, 
after this, the idol and first object of his life. 

When separated from his daughters Jefferson 
wrote to them regularly, and was full of impa¬ 
tience if he did not receive prompt replies. His 
letters breathe a most devoted father. They are 


68 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


full of love, judicious advice, and encouragement. 
He wrote Martha how to spend every hour of her 
time at school, matched cloth for both the girls, 
and not only took valuable time to buy a new 
style of veil they wanted, but observed how 
fashionable ladies wore theirs, and wrote minut¬ 
est descriptions to Polly, as he called Mary, 
how to arrange it on her own hat in the latest 
fashion. 

Indeed there was nothing those daughters 
were not privileged to ask of their indulgent 
father, let it interfere with cabinet or presi¬ 
dential duties if it would. 

Mary or Maria or Polly, for she was called by 
all three names, was very beautiful, also extremely 
affectionate and lovable. She did not like to 
write letters, and her father’s constant appeals 
to her love and gentle rebukes to spur her to 
write are half comical and half pathetic. 

“ I did not write you, my dear Poll, the last week, 
because I was really angry at receiving no letter.” 

“ To Martha 

“ This is a scolding letter for you all. I have not 
received a scrip of a pen from home since I left it. 


A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 69 

. . . Perhaps you think you have nothing to say to 
me. It is a great deal to say you are well, or one has 
a cold, another a fever. . . . Write then, dear daughter, 
punctually on your day, Mr. Randolph on his, and Polly 
on hers. I suspect that you have news to tell me of 
yourself of most tender interest to me. Why then 
silent ? ” 

“ To Maria 

“ I have written you, my dear Maria, four letters 
since I have been here, and have received only one. 
You owe me two then, and the present one makes 
three. This is a kind of debt I will not give up. 
You may ask how I will help myself. By petitioning 
your aunt as soon as you receive a letter to make you 
go without your dinner till you have answered it.” 

Marias dislike to writing was so strong that 
as much as she loved her father she tried to 
get out of her turn in the charming way which 
seemed peculiar to her. Naively she writes: — 

1 

“ Dear Papa : I received your letter of December 
7th . . . and would have answered it directly but my 
sister had to answer hers last week, and I this . . .,” 
etc., etc. 

To this excuse her father makes reply: — 

“ My dear Poll : At length I have a letter from 
you. The spell is now broken. I hope you will con- 


7 o 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


tinue to write every three weeks. Observe I do not 
admit the excuse you make of not writing because 
your sister had not written before.” 

He begins another letter: — 

“ My dear Maria : I am happy to have a letter 
of yours to answer.” 

At the end of one of these rebuking letters 
he writes: — 

“ I will not tell you how much I love you, lest by 
rendering you vain it might render you less worthy 
of my love.” 

In 1789 Jefferson obtained leave of Congress 
to come home. His principal reason for request¬ 
ing leave was to bring his daughters where they 
could enjoy the training of their aunt, Mrs. 
Eppes. He also hoped for some retirement, 
but was not destined to remain in quiet at 
Monticello. 

There was a great time at the mansion when Mr. 
Jefferson came home again. The negroes asked 
the overseer for a holiday, and gathered on the 
mountain top from all the farms on the estate. 
A long time they waited, then growing impatient 


A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


71 


they poured down the mountain side and met 
the party at Shadwell. They were wild with 
joy. The woods rang with their shouts, and 
unhitching the horses they drew the carriage 
up the rough mountain road. Both girls were 
a source of great admiration to them. One 
had been a baby and the other a very young 
girl when last seen at Monticello. Now Martha 
was a tall young lady of seventeen and Polly 
was eleven. 

Soon after Washington nominated Jefferson 
Secretary of State. Again he was reluctant to 
leave home, but felt that it was duty’s summons. 
Before he went he was called upon to do what 
gives a parent both joy and sorrow. He gave 
his daughter Martha to Thomas Mann Ran¬ 
dolph of Tuckahoe. The wedding took place 
at Monticello, February 23, 1790. 

After Mrs. Randolph’s marriage her father 
was as lovingly exacting as before about know¬ 
ing every detail of her life. It was during this 
period that he wrote the letter he styled a 
scolding one, and in which he accuses her of 
withholding news from him. To Polly it was 


72 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

much the same as usual. He reproves her if 
she does not write at the time he sets in that 
loving way which can hardly be called scolding. 

“ Where are you, Maria, and how have you occupied 
yourself ? Write me a letter by first post and answer 
all my questions. . . . Take pleasure in giving what 
is best to another rather than yourself, then all the 
world will love you, and I more than all the world. If 
your sister is with you, kiss her and tell her how much 
I love her also.” 

A few more years and a turn in the political 
wheel found Jefferson once more at his loved 
home with Polly as housekeeper and Martha 
there as often as her father could induce her 
to come. Polly was now also getting to be a 
woman, and a remarkably lovely one. She rode 
with her father every day, entertained his dis¬ 
tinguished guests, and was a most devoted 
daughter; but there was one visitor more wel¬ 
come to Polly than all the rest and that was her 
cousin, Jack Eppes. 

This peaceful life at Monticello was not for 
long. The vice-presidency called, and the presi¬ 
dency of the young republic beckoned. Once 


A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


more the father went forth to the public, and 

i 

the daughter to her sister or aunt as she pre¬ 
ferred. 

Jefferson was too keen an observer and was 
too much interested in his daughter not to notice 
what a famous guest recorded. After speaking 
of her beauty the Duke de La Rochefoucauld 
says:— 

“ Polly will soon find that there are duties 
sweeter to perform than those of daughter.” 

No doubt the frank girl, accustomed to con¬ 
sulting her father, told him of her love for her 
cousin. Anyway, his consent seems to have 
been taken for granted by all hands, for Martha 
wrote of the final decision and engagement, and 
back came the hearty answer that if he had 
all the world to pick from he could not have 
done better for his Polly than she had done for 
herself. 

However, after the marriage of his little Polly 
to John Wayles Eppes, Jefferson’s letters hint 
a sense of loss, a vague fear lest the new love 
should leave less space in his daughter’s heart 
for the father whose life was so bound up in 


74 


STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 


hers. He begs her to keep on loving him. In 
one letter he says: — 

“ Continue to love me, my dear, as I do you — most 
tenderly. . . . Continue to always love me, and be 
assured that no object on earth is so dear to my heart 
as your health and happiness, and that my tenderest 
affection always hangs on you.” 

After she was ill he wrote: — 

“ It is necessary for my tranquillity that I should hear 
from you often, for I feel inexpressibly whatever affects 
your health or happiness. . . . My attachments to the 
world and whatever it can offer are daily wearing off, 
but you are one of the links which hold my exist¬ 
ence.” 

Whenever he came home he always stopped 
to take Martha and her family to Monticello, 
and was impatient of the moments which kept 
Polly from him. Her declining health was a 
source of keenest anxiety, and when at last she 
was borne on a litter up the mountain to her 
childhood home to die, her father watched by 
her as he had watched by her mother, and when 
the end came, the blow stunned him as if it had 
not been expected. 


A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Mrs. Randolph tells us that she left him alone 

i 

for an hour, and when she broke in on his 
seclusion she found him with the Bible on his 
knees. 

Mrs. Eppes left a small daughter, who in 
future was to be the charge of her grandfather. 
He would have no other arrangement, and from 
this time until his death there was as little 
separation of the family as possible. Mrs. Ran¬ 
dolph made Monticello her home, and Mr. Ran¬ 
dolph was like a loved son. The grandchildren 
were the joy of Jefferson’s life. 

The Last Years of this Great Man 

Honors had reached their top mark, and Thomas 
Jefferson was an old man. Public cares had been 
laid aside. With his only child and his grand¬ 
children he is once more at home on the moun¬ 
tain top to enjoy fifteen years of the domestic life 
he loved above all others. 

With leisure for writing, and with the world at 
his door, this much-loved grandfather, this delight¬ 
ful host, this world-famed statesman, would have 
found life cast in pleasant places if it had not been 


% 

y6 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

for one dark shadow, the cankering shadow of 
debt 

During these last years the hospitality of Mon- 
ticello was unbounded. Even Washington, when 
Mount Vernon was “ not much but a well resorted 
tavern,” was not more besieged than the “ Sage 
of Monticello.” Mrs. Randolph again tells the 
story. She says: — 

“ People from all parts of the world and from 
every state, men in office, professional men, 
military and civil, lawyers, doctors, Protestant 
clergymen, Catholic priests, members of Con¬ 
gress, foreign ministers, missionaries, Indians, 
agents, tourists, travellers, artists, strangers, and 
friends.” 

The grounds about Monticello are still ex¬ 
tremely beautiful. In Jefferson’s time the wind¬ 
ing walks were bordered with shrubs and flowers 
of rarest kind. Three acres of lawn stretched be¬ 
hind the house. The gardens were on the side of 
the mountain. Grassed terraces hid bare soil, and 
an abundance of choice fruit trees always bore on 
these sunny slopes. One side of the mountain is 
still wooded and the other has been converted 



Jefferson’s Home at Monticello 










-- 































. 

> 














































A STATESMAN OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


into fertile fields, in which, during Jefferson’s life, 
fine blooded cattle and sheep wandered. 

Mr. Jefferson was fond of fine horses, and so ex¬ 
tremely particular about the care they received, 
that it is said he would run a fine cambric hand¬ 
kerchief over one brought out for him to ride, and 
if there was the least soil he would angrily order 
the groom to take it back. 

Mr. Jefferson’s health was fair until the sum¬ 
mer of 1825. Then it began to decline, and by 
July he was so ill that those who watched saw 
the end was not far off. By the third he was 
unconscious nearly all day. About midnight he 
roused himself to ask: — 

“ Is this the Fourth ? ” and those were the last 
words of Thomas Jefferson. 

What was on his mind ? To whom could the 
Fourth mean more? Was he hoping to die on 
the day his great Declaration was adopted? 
Strange coincidences of history, how they point 
to the power of the unseen! 

The doctor replied that it was near the Fourth, 
and the patient relapsed into unconsciousness. 
He died the next day about one o’clock, July 
fourth, 1826. 


78 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


He who had struggled to establish what was 
indeed a republic gave directions that there 
should be no unnecessary pomp at his funeral. 
Quietly they laid him to rest between his wife and 
Polly. Among his papers the inscription to be 
written on his tombstone was found. In the same 
slip was found the one he put on his wife’s. In his 
desk were locks of hair arranged in an orderly 
manner and labelled with the names of his dead 
children and Mrs. Jefferson. The envelopes 
showed frequent handling. 

No man need be ashamed of womanly qualities 
when this ripe statesman and busy founder of a 
nation snatched a moment now and then for such 
occupation. 



Thomas Jefferson 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 


79 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 
A Puny Boy 

The year that George Washington was born 
brought another important baby into the world. 

It was a very little baby, no bigger, they say, 
than a New England lobster. 

This very small baby was born on a South 
Carolina plantation. They named him Francis 
Marion. 

Little Francis was a pale, sickly boy. He did 
not grow like other boys. No one dreamed that 
he would live to become one of the popular 
heroes of our country. 

To save his life he was sent to sea with the 
captain of a sailing vessel, a friend of his father. 

The good captain fed the puny boy plenty of 
turtle soup and chocolate. These nourishing 
foods, with bracing sea air, finally brought strength, 
and the boy who was too weak to climb the side 


8o 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


of the ship and wave good-by when he sailed 
away came back in good health which never left 
him. 


A Quiet Planter and a Brave Soldier 

Until he was twenty-seven years of age 
Francis Marion lived the quiet life of a south¬ 
ern planter. 

After this he gained some fame as a soldier in 
Indian wars, but not until the Revolution broke 
out did South Carolina know how brave a man 
she had in Marion. 

When the war of the Revolution began, most 
educated people in South Carolina were eager to 
fight for freedom, but the ignorant hardly knew 
what freedom meant. They were well content 
to remain under the rule of a gloomy king three 
thousand miles away. 

The colony raised two regiments. Marion was 
in the famous second regiment,—the one which 
won victory at Fort Moultrie. 

After the British were chased out of Charles¬ 
ton harbor, the South was left in peace for several 
years. The war was waged in the North. 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS - 81 

Finally another British army was sent to 
subdue the rich and high-spirited South. 

At the time we had been fighting for freedom 
four years. 

France had concluded that we should win it, 
and sent ships and soldiers to help us. It was 
part of this French army which went south 
to assist people there. Count D’Estaing was 
commander. 

A Bad Blunder 

Southern patriots received Count D’Estaing 
and his army as deliverers. They hastened to 
join him in attack upon the British at Savannah. 
Hope ran high for victory. 

If you make the wrong boy captain of your 
ball team, the other side is sure to win. 

In war, if the wrong man leads into battle, the 
other side not only wins, but thousands of lives 
are needlessly sacrificed. 

Count D’Estaing was a very polite man, but 
preferred to fight only when he felt like it. He 
was a poor leader, and by his folly a noble army 
of French and Americans was cut to pieces. 


8 2 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Instead of surprising the English, as the Ameri¬ 
can officers advised, this leisurely French general 
politely sent word to know when he might have 
the extreme honor of receiving their surrender. 

The English requested twenty-four hours to 
think about it, and strange to say Count D’Estaing 
kindly let them have it. 

Colonel Horry, one of the American officers 
serving under him, bluntly says: — 

“ Instead of thinking like simpletons the Eng¬ 
lish began to intrench like brave soldiers.” 

Our officers were in a rage. 

“ Whoever heard the like before, to allow an 
enemy to intrench and then fight him ! ” cried 
Marion in a passion. 

Colonel Henry Laurens was the one Ameri¬ 
can officer there who could speak French. They 
sent him to Count D’Estaing to remonstrate. 

He politely told the French general that 
American officers thought, he had given the 
English too much time to think. 

Count D’Estaing laughed merrily, and ex¬ 
claimed in his broken English : — 

“ The English think! Eh, Mr. Colonel ? The 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 83 

English never think except what they eat! 
Give the Jack English plenty of beef, plenty of 
pudding, plenty of porter, he never think more. 
He lay down and sleep like a pig.” 

“ But, Mr. Count, they are working like horses, 
and will soon have breastworks too high for us to 
climb.” 

“ Eh, Mr. Colonel, you think so ? My French- 
a-mans will run over their breastworks like a 
horse over a corn-field fence.” 

“ But, Mr. Count, the English sometimes fight 
like fiends.” 

At this the French general opened his mouth 
very wide and stared at Colonel Laurens in a 
comical manner. 

“ When they have been known to fight like 
fiends ? ” he demanded. “ They fight the Ameri¬ 
cans like fiends, but they no fight my French-a- 
man so, no, no! My French-a-man eat the British 
up like lettle grenouille ” (pronounced gre-nou-i). 

Now grenouille is a French word. It means 
small frog, and when Count D’Estaing spoke it, 
some of the American officers thought he said 
green owl. 


84 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

“ Green owl! ” cried one; “ whoever heard of a 
green owl before ? ” 

Colonel Laurens laughed and explained that 
grenouille was French for frog. 

“ Ah, sure enough, frog! ” continued the count. 
“ Mr. Colonel, my French-a-mans eat up them 
Jack English like vun [one] leetle frog.” 

Colonel Laurens next urged very earnestly 
that too many soldiers would be killed. 

“ What if they do kill the soldiers ? ” cried the 
count in amazement. “ What they for but be 
killed ? That their trade. He go fight. He get 
killed. He only get what he hire for.” 

“ But, Mr. Count, we can’t spare them.” 

“ What, the grand monarch no spare the sol¬ 
diers ! Why, Mr. Colonel, why you talk-a-so ? 
You see the stars in the sky, the grand monarch 
got more soldiers than all that.” 

“Well, but, Mr. Count, is it not cruel to kill 
the poor fellows ? ” 

“ Pooh! Mr. Colonel, you make the king of 
France laugh he hear a you talk after that fash¬ 
ion. Let me tell you, Mr. Colonel, the king of 
France not like General Washington. General 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 85 

Washington talks with the soldiers. He shakes 
hands with them. The grand monarch not do 
so. He not look at the soldiers. The grand 
monarch only think of the soldiers as poor dogs 
who fight for him .” 

We have had enough of Count D’Estaing’s bad 
English to show what grand monarchs and great 
generals in Europe thought of brave soldiers. 
We can feel doubly proud of Washington for 
treating his soldiers like men instead of poor dogs 
who fought for him. 

Of course Count D’Estaing was badly defeated, 
and the British became masters of the South. 

When the last attack had been made, Colonel 
Laurens stood looking over the field covered 
with dead and dying. The awful sight was too 
much for him. He threw down his sword, and 
cried out in despair: — 

“ I wish I were lying yonder with my brave 
men! ” 

The next move of the British was to capture 
Charleston. Many brave Americans, including 
Colonel Moultrie were taken prisoners. Marion 
escaped by accident. He was dining with some 


86 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


men who insisted that General Marion must 
drink more wine. He would not, and rose to 
go. The jovial gentlemen locked the door. 

Brave Marion was not one to submit to such a 
joke. He coolly walked to the window and 
leaped out. The dining room was on the second 
floor, and the long jump sprained his ankle. 
They carried him out of the city on a litter, and 
General Lincoln ordered him to his plantation 
until he was fit for duty. 

Sprains are not generally lucky things, but 
that sprain of Marion’s was a lucky one for South 
Carolina. 

It saved the man who was to hold the colony 
to freedom from being taken prisoner. 

Two Fugitives 

Before his ankle was well, Marion heard of 
schemes to capture him, and set off through the 
forest toward the north. He was attended 
by a black servant, and rode a powerful 
horse. 

One day in the deep woods he came suddenly 
upon another lonely horseman. He was about 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 87 

1 

to fire when the horseman turned and both men 

1 

cried out in joyful voice: — 

“ Marion! ” 

“ Horry! ” 

It was Major Horry, Marion’s friend and com¬ 
rade. He too was fleeing from the British. He 
also was on his way north, and hoped to beg help 
for the stricken South. They rode on together. 

These two South Carolina gentlemen were men 
of large estate. They held high rank in our 
army, but neither had a penny in his pocket. 

When hungry, they must not only ask food for 
themselves and horses, but they must humble 
themselves to beg it from sullen Tory farmers 
who reproached them for taking part in the war 
and declared that the king’s rule was good 
enough for them. 

Sometimes these people refused to give Marion 
and Horry food at all. Then the fugitives were 
compelled to live on roots. 

In North Carolina they came upon good news. 
An army was marching south to drive Corn¬ 
wallis away. General Gates commanded it. 

This news gave great joy to Marion and his 


88 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


friend. They rode hard to meet this army in 
Virginia. 

On the way Marion and Horry had been joined 
by a few others, also fleeing from Cornwallis. 

A journal kept by one of Gates’s officers tells 
us how Marion and his little band appeared. It 
says:— 

“ Colonel Marion, attended by a very few 
followers, has been with the army several days. 
They are known by small leather caps and the 
wretchedness of their attire. All are mounted, 
but are miserably equipped.” 

General Gates was hardly civil to this ragged 
little band. Indeed, he was too full of conceit 
over the victory his army had won at Saratoga to 
be civil to any one. 

Marion did not mind. He asked permission 
to take his few followers on ahead as scouts. 
Glad to be rid of him, Gates told the South 
Carolinians to go and destroy some boats. 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 


89 


Another Blunderer 

Gates proved to be another blunderer. At 
Fredericksburg, Virginia, he met General Charles 
Lee. 

“ Where are you going ? ” bluntly inquired 
Lee. 

“To capture Cornwallis,” pompously replied 
Gates. 

“ I am afraid you will find him a tough piece 
of English beef.” 

“ Tough, sir,” replied Gates. “I’ll tender him 
in three hours after I set eyes on him.”, 

“ Ah ! but will you indeed ? Take care, Gates! 
Take care or your northern laurels will turn into 
southern willows! ” 

So it proved. This foolish boaster who 
declared that Cornwallis would not dare look 
him in the face, was terribly defeated by that 
same Cornwallis at Camden. 

The speed with which he ran from the battle 
is all that distinguished Gates at Camden. In 
three and one-half days he fled over two hundred 
miles. He went without orders. His army was 


90 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


left to shift for itself under leadership of Baron 
De Kalb and other brave officers. 

Gallant De Kalb fell, trying to save the day, 
and the battlefield was strewn with heroic Ameri¬ 
cans who fell with him. 

The British had won again, and our army in 
the South was practically wiped out. 

A Scene in a Swamp 

Wiped out? — no, not quite. You remember 
that Marion with his thirty men had been sent 
to destroy some boats. 

They were busily engaged at it when Major 
Horry’s uncle told them of Gates’s utter defeat at 
Camden. He advised them to run for their lives. 
Marion and his men could hardly believe it. 
Some openly accused their informer of joking. 
It was no joke, however. 

There was clamor when the truth dawned upon 
the astonished soldiers. Some were asking ques¬ 
tions. Others were using strong language. One 
was cool and quiet. It was the swarthy little 
leader. Above the din a quick, sharp command 
rang out: — 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 


91 


“ Mount and follow me.” 

It was Marion’s voice. The men obeyed it 
instantly, and dashed after him through the deep 
woods. 

He led them to a great swampy forest. In 
dense shade they halted, and Marion commanded 
them to form. 

Then the keen-eyed leader faced this band of 
thirty men and made a modest speech. He 
said: — 

“ The liberty which shone above our land is 
gone. Foreign ruffians are braving us at our 
very firesides. Not one thousand of her chil¬ 
dren will rise to take South Carolina’s part. I 
consider my life but as a moment. To fill that 
moment with duty is my all. I am determined 
that while I live my country shall never be en¬ 
slaved.” 

His brave followers agreed. 

“ Well, then, friends,” he said, “ draw your 
swords! Now form a circle, emblematic of our 
eternal union, and pointing your blades to heaven, 
the bright throne of Him who made us free, 
swear you will never be slaves to Britain ! ” 


92 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

Is it not worth while to go back to Brave Old 
Times to view this scene ? 

Imagine it. The deep, dark, swampy forest, 
that circle of determined men, thirty glittering 
swords pointing toward the sky, the upturned 
faces, the solemn oath uttered in concert, — 
where in history is a scene which matches it? 

The mighty king of England and his power¬ 
ful Parliament would have been amused if they 
had seen it. Thirty men against their vast ar¬ 
mies ! Thirty swords against their destructive 
and unnumbered guns! 

It seems almost a miracle that those thirty 
swords, with little help, did hold the field against 
the army of Cornwallis. 

“ Little French Phiz’d Marion,” as one of his 
officers called him, outwitted and tormented the 
all-conquering Britons at every turn. 

The enemy tried hard to capture him. Corn¬ 
wallis’s best officer, the swift Tarleton with his 
terrible dragoons, was set to the task. It was 
part of Marion’s game to keep them chasing 
him. 

After scouring half the swamps in South Caro- 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 


93 


lina in vain attempts, Tarleton declared that he 
could get the Game Cock (Sumter), but old Satan 
himself could not trap that Swamp Fox, Marion. 

So long as Sumter and Marion were at large, 
Cornwallis knew that he was not absolute master 
of South Carolina. 

Daring Deeds 

The British first felt Marion’s hand at a way- 
side tavern. 

After the battle of Camden two hundred of 
them had stopped there with ninety American 
prisoners. 

Marion swooped down upon them at early 
dawn. So swift was the charge that sentinels 
fled, soldiers howled as if Washington’s whole 
army had come, and search for the captain found 
him up the chimney. 

Two hundred were taken prisoners. Marion 
captured their arms and set the ninety Ameri¬ 
cans free. 

About twenty-four hours later scouts brought 
word that a large force of Tories was mustering 
at a certain place. 


94 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Marion and his men rode forty miles that 
night, scattered the Tories, and seized their arms. 
The defeated force outnumbered Marion’s three 
to one. 

By this time every camp in the South was ring¬ 
ing with the name of Marion. The Swamp Fox, 
as they called him, had become to Cornwallis’s 
men a swift avenging spirit. 

Force after force was sent against him, but 
when it got where Marion was supposed to be, he, 
foxlike, had either vanished or he stood ready to 
rush upon them with terrible force. 

He seized their officers. He took their arms. 
He came upon them while they were feasting 
and coolly ate the suppers they had cooked. He 
carried off their stores. He swept down upon 
them in the night and even took them prisoners 
while they slept. The British greatly feared him. 

Lucky for South Carolina that they had some¬ 
thing to fear, for Cornwallis’s course in that col¬ 
ony and in Georgia was awful. Marion and 
Sumter alone restrained his cruel hand. 

Patriots turned to them with all their woes. 

“ The British came to-day and stole all our 
negroes.” 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 95 

“The British just fell upon us and carried 
away all our cattle and horses.” 

“ They shot my father, burnt our house, and 
have driven my mother and us children into 
the woods to starve.” 

“ They are taking American prisoners from 
Camden jail and hanging them up by the half 
dozen,” were the kind of complaints which came 
daily to Marions swamp camp. 

When he heard those awful things, Marion 
snapped his fingers. “ Lay on Britain,” he cried. 
“ South Carolina will soon be too hot to hold 
you! ” 

He and his handful of men made it as hot 
as they could. 

Many a squad of British soldiers sent to 
destroy a patriot’s plantation were in the grip 
of the Swamp Fox before they knew what had 
happened. 

So swift was Marion’s descent, so well timed 
was his attack, that none escaped. If he came 
at all, he came to scatter and capture. 

His very name struck terror. When he dashed 
upon forces many times greater than his own, 


96 stories of brave old times 

the men came to cry, “ Marion! Marion! ” in 
terror-stricken voice and run as fast as they 
could go. 

A British colonel sent a flag of truce to 
Marion, and scolded him for carrying on war 
entirely different from all civilized nations. 

“Why, sir,” he said, “you must command a 
horde of savages. I can’t cross a bridge but I 
am waylaid and shot at as if I was a mad dog. 
My sentinels are fired at and killed at their 
posts. Sir, that is not the way Christians ought 
to fight! ” 

Marion retorted that the British were the 
last to preach honor and humanity. He added 
that it was impudent for them to come three 
thousand miles to plunder and hang innocent 
people and then tell them how to fight. 

This brave American leader refused to prac¬ 
tice unnecessary barbarities of war. He said: — 

“ Not one home has been burnt by my peo¬ 
ple. It is what I detest, to disturb poor women 
and children.” 

Marion rode the swiftest and most powerful 
horse the South could produce. When mounted 


OUR HERO OF THE SWAMPS 


97 


no one could capture him, no one could escape 
him. His men were also well mounted. 

Night was their time for action. Seldom a 
night passed that they did not sweep out of 
their swamp hiding-place to disturb some British 
camp. 

There were several narrow escapes. One day 
Marion was alone. Tarleton’s dragoons surprised 
and surrounded him. There was but one way 
of escape. That was to leap at a bound a ditch 
four feet wide and a fence on a high mound 
across the ditch. 

The British thought no mortal could do it, 
out Marion quietly whispered to his powerful 
horse. Instantly the trusty animal cleared ditch, 
mound, and fence at one bound. The bold 
rider turned and mockingly called out: — 

“ Good morning, gentlemen.” Then he sent 
a p ,: stol-shot back and was out of sight before 
his enemies could catch their breath. 

After a while Washington sent the right man 
south. It was General Greene. 

Marion was put in command of a body of 
cavalry, and helped win noted victories; but the 


98 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


country will remember this daring leader for 
the work he did as commander of a handful of 
men in the swamps of South Carolina. 

It was a mighty work to hold the field against 
so powerful a leader as General Cornwallis. 
Marion and Sumter did this until General 
Greene came to help them. 



Francis Marion 








OUR HERO OF HEROES 


99 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 
George of the Potomac, and George of England 

Seventeen miles from the capital of the 
United States, and on the right bank of the Po¬ 
tomac, is the most interesting house in the 
country, but so much has been written about it 
that a new word in its name is hard to find. 

When Lawrence Washington gave up all idea 
of a commission in the English army, he did it 
because pretty Anne Fairfax had promised to 
become his bride. Instead of putting on regi¬ 
mentals, young Washington set about building 
a house. He selected a sightly spot on the 
plantation his father had left him along the 
Potomac. Here he erected the house which he 
named Mount Vernon after a British admiral 
under whom he served in Cartagena. It was a 
very modest house with only four rooms on a 


100 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


floor and about one-third the size of the present 
mansion. 

At thirty-four Lawrence died, leaving a puny 
daughter who soon followed him, and by will of 
both his father and his brother our future first 
President came into possession of Mount Vernon. 
He already owned the home farm. This addi¬ 
tion made him one of the rich young men of 
Virginia. 

There was little change in the home before 
the marriage of young Colonel Washington. 
Lossing gives a bachelor order just prior to 
that event which shows that the prospective 
husband thought some improvement should be 
made for the bride. 

He had bottoms put into a dozen old chairs, 
and bought two new tables. 

Soon after a wife came upon the scene another 
order went out from Mount Vernon, to quote 
Lossing, the order of a husband instead of a 
bachelor, and the difference is amusing. 

In addition to salmon-velvet with satin flow¬ 
ers, aprons, two pairs womans white silk stock¬ 
ings, thread, fashionable bonnet, hairpins, scissors, 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


IOI 


sugar candy, snuff, medicine etc., this order was 
sent to England : — 

“ One bust of Alexander the Great, another 
of Julius Caesar, another of Charles the Seventh 
of Sweden, and the fourth of the King of 
Prussia. 

“ N. B. These are not to exceed fifteen inches 
in height nor ten in width. 

“Two other busts of Prince Eugene and the 
Duke of Marlborough somewhat smaller. 

“ Two wild beasts not to exceed twelve inches 
in height nor eighteen in length. 

“ Sundry ornaments for the chimneypiece.” 

The last shows a little helplessness on the 
part of the husband and a lack of assistance on 
that of the wife. While ornamentation undoubt¬ 
edly came in with Martha, selection shows the 
hand of George himself. Washington began 
as he continued during forty years of husband- 
hood. He ordered all his wife’s clothes, from 
velvet cloak to hairpins. 

Mrs. Washington’s great wealth swelled the 
fortunes of Mount Vernon until its inmates 
were among the richest in the colony. Wash- 


102 


STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 


ington added to the plantation until it was 
washed by ten miles of tide-water and the 
fisheries and brickyards brought a large in¬ 
come. 

Thus George of Mount Vernon began his 
career as a planter, going to Williamsburg to 
attend the sessions of the House of Burgesses 
at stated times, and with his pretty and fash¬ 
ionable wife entering heartily into the social 
gayeties of the place. 

George the Third over in England had some 
notions in his head destined to change this 
routine life of George of the Potomac. The 
king wanted money to erect a new palace. 
Some years before he had determined to get 
it out of his rich American colonies, and because 
the colonists impudently refused to pay, made 
his Stubborn Majesty the more determined that 
they should pay. Kings had not learned to 
be modest then. 

George of the Potomac was a good loyalist. 
He had fought for his king in several wars, 
and did not his own mother speak with soft 
English accent, and was not old England her 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


103 


dear home ? Deeply did George Washington 
regret the war-cloud he saw corning. 

In every way he tried for peace, but one day 
a horseman dashed into Williamsburg with news 
of the closing of Boston’s port, and the sleeping 
lion awoke. 

“ If need be, I will raise one thousand men in 
Westmoreland County, subsist them at my own 
expense, and march to the relief of Boston,” he 
declared; and George the Third of England 
had little to hope from George of the Potomac 
after that. 

Home-coming of a Hero 

When Washington set out to war from Mount 
Vernon, few in all the world would have predicted 
his return as victor. He was the arch rebel, the 
man about whose neck the halter always hung 
could Britain catch him. 

“ When shall we three meet again, 

In thunder, lightning, or in rain, 

When the hurly burly’s done, 

When the cause is lost or won ? ” — 

scribbled Richard Henry Lee, on the old state- 
house at Williamsburg as he was about to bid 


104 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

good-by to two friends, and set out for the first 
Continental Congress. 

That little scrawl hints something of the in¬ 
tense feeling with which our forefathers went 
into the wild turmoil of the American Revolution. 
To-day our thought is so centred on the glorious 
end that we lose sight of the fearful risks others 
ran to give us freedom. 

That glorious end need not be repeated here. 
Mount Vernon is our theme. We want to know 
how it welcomed home the hero of the eigh¬ 
teenth century. 

He came back from war on the Christmas 
eve of 1784. The day before he had resigned 
as commander-in-chief of the Continental army. 
Everywhere he had been hailed as deliverer of 
the nation. People flocked in crowds to see him, 
and could not do enough to show the love, 
almost worship, they felt. He was the idol of 
this country and the admiration of Europe. 

Mrs. Washington went to Annapolis to see 
the resignation ceremony, and to bring her hus¬ 
band home. He was longing for that home 
with the longing of a homesick child. All 



’Washington Resigning his Commission. 















OUR HERO OF HEROES 105 

other greetings were empty and unsatisfying, so 
long as he could not clasp the hands of those 
with whom he had lived and loved. 

Swift as the best horses could bring him, he 
hurried to Mount Vernon. What a home-com¬ 
ing! How could mere words tell of it? The 
awful deluge of blood, and the terrible anxiety 
as to the outcome of it, all was over. In the 
hero’s own words, “ a load had slipped from his 
shoulders. The scene had at last closed.” An 
empire had been snatched from one of the 
proud old monarchies of Europe. The world 
was ringing with applause for the ragged rebels 
who had twisted history into unknown channels 
and set every autocrat trembling on his throne. 
Washington as leader of this band was not 
only the wonder of his time, but destined, as 
all knew, to remain one of the mighty of all 
time. 

He knew all this. He was bringing a tired 
body, but an exultant heart, to Mount Vernon on 
that Christmas eve a century and a quarter ago. 

Rest! rest! was his one desire; and well had 
he earned that longed-for rest. Few men ever 


106 STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 

endured more than Washington in our eight 
years’ war for freedom. His feats in the saddle 
alone were almost superhuman. From Boston 
to Connecticut, from Connecticut to New York, 
then on through the mud of New Jersey, over 
the rough highways of Pennsylvania to the hills 
and valleys of his native Virginia he rode, and 
then rode it all over again, incessantly in the 
saddle. None but a man of iron could have 
endured it. 

While he is on the way to home and rest, let 
us take a look into the house. Preparations 
have been going on for days. Pantry shelves 
are loaded with cakes and spiced drinks to feast 
the negroes. Every room is decked in Christ¬ 
mas green. Great fires crackle in the broad 
hearths, and candles are ready to twinkle a wel¬ 
come from every window. 

The table in the dining room is set for 
many. “ Master will not come alone.” Silver 
plate and finest damask are out for this great 
occasion. 

About the barns preparations are as brisk as 
in the house. Banjos and fiddles and firearms 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


107 


show that this home-coming is not destined to 
be of the quiet sort. Everything is in gala dress 
and gala spirit at Mount Vernon. 

The sun begins to sink out of sight. The 
Misses Lewis with their mother and a few others 
near to the returning hero gather in the drawing¬ 
room. Ebony waiters put last touches to the 
table, and they too wait. 

In the kitchen bustle subsides. Anxiety takes 
the place of importance in its chief autocrat the 
cook. 

Grooms hang about the stables. Bishop, now 
too old to campaign with the general has — oh, 
comical exhibition of ignorant dignity — donned 
the full British regimentals he wore at Braddock’s 
defeat to welcome home the man who has chased 
that uniform from the land. All about Mount 
Vernon is waiting, waiting for its hero head to 
come. 

Who has not waited for a dear one’s home¬ 
coming, and who ever waited patiently? Our 
sympathy is ready for the restless watchers in 
the big house on the Potomac. 

Now and then negro boys are sent out to 


IOS STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

reconnoitre, but they come back again and again 
with nothing to report. The sun has sunk out 
of sight. Twilight steals over river and hill. 
Some of the coming gloom begins to steal into 
the impatient hearts of the watchers when shouts 
from several black urchins rouse the house to 
intense excitement. Billy, the black servant of 
the general, has ridden ahead to announce the 
approach. 

The carriage sweeps into the driveway, and 
Bishop stands at the door of his cottage with 
the rigidity of a king’s guard. Gayly and most 
respectfully Washington gives a full military 
salute to his old body-servant, and, during the 
rest of the mile drive to the house, is kept busy 
acknowledging cheers and greetings that are as 
different from public laudation as possible. 

Faces are pressed against the western window- 
panes as the procession nears the house. This 
one and that cries out: — 

“There they are ! I see them! I see them!” 
Then there is a rush for the hall. 

Iron hoofs echo loudly on the stone court. 
Two young officers swing from the saddle, and 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


IO9 


finally the tall form for which all are watching 
springs from the coach. The general calls out 
a greeting to those at the door, but is too busy 
for embraces yet. The cavalcade of escorting 
gentlemen must be welcomed. Mrs. Washington 
must be handed from the coach. 

One by one guests follow the mistress into 
the mansion, but loving faces still peer wistfully 
from the door. The dear uncle and brother 
they long to greet is giving directions to the 
grooms. At last he springs up the steps like 
a boy. Entwining arms are ready. They draw 
him from the cool dark outside into the warm 
bright hall. The home he left almost nine years 
ago a rebellious subject of King George he enters 
now a private citizen of a free republic. 

While the family feasts in the dining room 
the servants revel outside. Banjos and fiddles 
fill the air with melody, and a fen de joie of small 
firearms is kept up until nine o’clock. 

Ah, Mount Vernon! shelterer of the greatest 
hero of the century, this was indeed a home¬ 
coming to remember! 


no 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


A Nation’s Call 

Soon after his return from war Washington 
wrote to Lafayette : “ On Christmas eve I entered 
these doors an older man by nine years than 
when I left them. Since that period we have 
been locked up in frost and snow; excluded in 
a manner from all kinds of intercourse, I have 
not only retired from all public employment, but 
am retiring within myself.” 

This was only the proverbial calm before a 
storm. Spring brought throngs. Billy had often 
to call out: — 

“ Excellency! Excellency ! There are quali¬ 
ties at the door! ” 

“ The little ville,” as Washington called his 
house, was too small to shelter all in comfort. 
A larger house was needed. “To build that 
should now be his task,” was the hero’s thought. 

He set to work at once. With his own hand 
he drew the plans for enlargement of the house 
and beautifying the grounds. From a modest 
thirty-three-foot house the mansion was extended 
ninety-six feet along the Potomac, and the grounds 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


III 


and ornamentations were added as they exist 
to-day. This delightful house-making occupied 
the summer of 1785. Midst it all visitors came 
in throngs, but hospitality is so broad in the 
South, and General and Mrs. Washington were 
both so used to living in a crowd, that they took 
it easily. 

Evenings at Mount Vernon were always merry. 
Card-playing, at which small sums were staked, 
billiards and dancing to the music of some black 
genius, were the amusements. 

Solemnly Washington declared that he would 
never leave this charming home-life again, and 
he meant every word of it; but he saw the nation, 
especially the men who had fought with him, 
turning to him, and he knew that his work for 
freedom was not completed. Again he must 
leave this loved home and help to give the land 
he had fought for a safe and substantial govern¬ 
ment. 

One day the distinguished farmer came in 
from inspecting his estate a quarter before one 
o’clock. He was greeted by a tall, thin man 
with hollow eyes, who has come before us promi- 


112 


STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 


nently on another occasion. It was none other 

than Charles Thomson, Secretary of Congress. 

* 

He bore a letter from John Langdon, president 
of that body, notifying General Washington that 
he had been elected President of the United 
States. 

It is said that the patriots talked long over 
that midday meal, and then they went into the 
library to continue discussion of public affairs 
for hours. Finally the general slipped out. Up 
to the little study over the tea room he went and 
penned the following letter: — 

“ Mount Vernon, 14th April, 1789. 

“ Sir : I had the honor to receive your official com¬ 
munication by the hand of Mr. Secretary Thomson 
about one o’clock this day. Having concluded to obey 
the important and flattering call of my country, and 
having been impressed with the idea of expediency 
of my being with Congress at as early a date as pos¬ 
sible, I propose to commence my journey on Thursday 
morning which will be the day after to-morrow.” 

Coming out of his den, he gave the letter to 
a servant to post at Alexandria. When evening 
came, Mr. Thomson was left to be entertained 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 113 

by the lady of the mansion. Washington had 
set off with Billy to see his mother at Fredericks¬ 
burg. It was forty miles away. The reader 
may calculate how long it would take a rider 
like General Washington to go over rough 
country roads in the night. 

Washington and his Mother 

A troubled statesman set out on that night 
ride, and a sorrowing son returned from it. 
Incurable disease had fastened itself upon the 
aged woman, and when her son was trying to 
tell her that as soon as public business permitted 
he would visit her again, she interrupted him. 

“You will never see me more, — I shall not be 
long in this world, — but go, George, fulfil the 
high destiny which Heaven appears to assign 
you. Go, my son, and may Heaven’s and your 
mother’s blessing go with you.” 

It was the son who needed comfort now. 
Every vestige of pride and dignity slipped 
from the great man. The stately head was 
bowed until it touched the shoulder which had 
pillowed it in boyhood. Feebly the dear mother 


114 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

hands stroked it for the last time. With its soft 
English accent, the sweet mother voice soothed 
as it had soothed when he was a child upon her 
knee. No one understood him so well as she 
whose counterpart he was. In this hour of 
severe trial she was the stronger. When it 
became necessary to speak the final word, she 
took his arm and went with him to the door. 
As he embraced her he slipped a bag of gold 
into her hand. Mary Washington’s old inde¬ 
pendent spirit returned. She refused the gift, 
remarking that the old needed little. 

“For my sake, mother,” pleaded Washington; 
and the “my sake” prevailed. 

Mrs. Lewis, fearing the effect of this parting 
on her mother, hurried to the cottage after her 
brother had started for home. She found her in 
a strange unconscious revery. Her mind seemed 
wholly in the past. 

As for Washington it was probably the saddest 
ride he ever took. He never saw his mother 
again. 

Paul Leicester Ford scoffed at the sentiment 
lavished on the relation between Washington 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 115 

and his mother. He asserted that she was illiter¬ 
ate and untidy and smoked a pipe. 

She was less illiterate than the majority of the 
women of that time. Her slips in spelling can 
be duplicated in high places, even by the efforts 
of English queens of that century. She was far 
more literary than her daughter-in-law, for it is 
pretty certain that the excellent Martha never 
read a book through in her life. We know that 
Mary did read such works as Sir Matthew Hale’s 
“ Contemplation of the Moral and the Divine,” 
and compelled her children to memorize part of 
the “ Great Audit.” 

It is hard to understand how Mr. Ford con¬ 
ceived the idea that she was untidy. Proof is 
plenty that he is absolutely mistaken. Perhaps 
the distinguished novelist had not quite con¬ 
quered feminine vocabulary and did not know 
the vast difference between dressing up and 
dressing neatly. 

One who lived beside her for fourteen years 
says, “No one ever saw her look fashionable or 
other than neat.” 

From her grandchildren comes amusing testi- 


116 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

mony that she was very neat. Kenmore, the 
fine home of her only daughter Mrs. Lewis, was 
near the cottage which sheltered her old age. 
When grandmother was expected for the day, a 
great dusting and scrubbing began. Sharp watch 
was also kept for a black-robed figure with a 
maid behind carrying a knitting basket. As 
soon as it left the cottage gate, last applications 
of the wash-rag were made and clean pinafores 
rushed on so the children might meet grandma 
at the door in immaculate array. 

The woman who trained George Washington 
could not have been very untidy, for he was neat 
to old maidishness. 

There is not the least proof that she ever 
smoked a pipe, but if she did, was it a heinous 
offence in those times ? Did not many who 
called themselves fine ladies do the same ? 
Every woman of fashion, including Mrs. Martha 
herself, took snuff. 

Perhaps there was little in common between 
Mary and Martha Washington. Although of 
proud family and an aristocrat in the best sense, 
the first was a farmer woman, the best judge of 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


II 7 


a horse in Virginia. The second was rich and 
petted all her life. One spun her own clothes 
and laughed at George’s style. The other 
dressed in the height of fashion and seems to 
have considered her mother-in-law a most un¬ 
desirable addition to her drawing-room. Mary 
was left alone with a large family to bring up. 
There was an immense amount of land to make 
profitable for their benefit and almost no money 
to help in the gigantic task. She not only 
brought them all up well, but sent them into 
the world with a fair competence. Martha was 
shielded from all she did not wish to do as well 
as a careful husband, and great wealth, can shield 
a mortal. In temperament they were as unlike 
as in circumstances. Mary was frank, wilful, and 
deeply affectionate, with more than the usual 
allotment of brains. Martha was more yielding, 
cooler, and far less richly endowed in heart and 
intellect. 

In his Martha and Mary, Lossing uncon¬ 
sciously illustrates this difference between the 
wife and mother of Washington. In writing of 
Martha, it is all about George Washington. It 


II8 STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 

reminds one of a certain love story written by 
Mark Twain, which is mostly about fish-hooks. 
In writing of Mary, the historian touches a 
personality. His pen glides easily, for there is 
no need to fill in with something more interest¬ 
ing than his subject. 

From boyhood, Washington was the image of 
his mother. Both legendary and recorded his¬ 
tory tell us that he also resembled her in charac¬ 
ter. The woman who ruled a plantation so well, 
trained a son to rule a nation. The strong will 
she bequeathed to him was our strength in hour 
of peril. Americans should find no fault with it. 

The more Mary Washington is studied, the 
more charm is found. Even the eccentricities of 
her old age were flavored with attraction to her 
neighbors who have left abundant evidence that 
they loved and respected her. Coming to closer 
relations, where there is often friction, we find her 
stepson Lawrence a loving admirer and friend. 
Major Lewis, her son-in-law, urged her to make a 
home with him, and was constantly offering to do 
anything in his power to help her. 

Is it possible that a son so loved as Wash- 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 119 

ington could be indifferent to a personality so 
startlingly like his own? We know he was not. 

“ I owe all that I am to my mother,” was 
his emphatic assertion. Certainly, respect rings 
through that. This lonely night ride, the loving 
care which hurried couriers to the little cottage 
in Fredericksburg with news of every battle, the 
pride he took in introducing her to such men 
as Lafayette, show that he loved her well. 

It is said that Mary Washington’s eyes could 
flash “ blue lightning.” So could her illustrious 
son’s. It is possible that there was conflict at 
times, but mother and son understood each 
other too well for ill-will to be possible. 

From Plantation to Nation 

The general arrived at Mount Vernon the 
next evening. It was too late to make much 
preparation that night, so the whole plantation 
was astir at dawn. Before daylight a committee 
appeared from Alexandria to invite the President 
elect to a public dinner. 

About ten he set off with Mr. Thomson and 
Colonel Humphreys. Family, neighbors, guests, 


120 


STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 


and servants gathered to see the world-famed 
master once more go out from the quiet home. 
They cried “ good speed,” and then turned back 
with tears. A head had gone forth for the 
nation, but a great lonely time had fallen on 
Mount Vernon. 

Washington was as reluctant to go as his 
family was to have him. He tells us that his 
mind was oppressed with more anxious and 
painful sensations than he had words to express. 
Knowing what he had been through during the 
previous twenty-four hours, we can well believe 
that his thought was far from political glory. 

About a mile from the house an escort of 
gentlemen was waiting to accompany the general 
to Alexandria. This courtesy of his neighbors 
touched Washington deeply. The dinner was 
but the first in a series of ovations which lasted 
all the way to New York. 

Mrs. Washington did not go until May. She 
carried some of the sensible customs of her 
Virginia home to the presidential mansion on 
Cherry Street. At receptions we find her say¬ 
ing to fashionable lingerers: — 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


121 


“ Good night. The general always retires at 
nine, and I generally precede him.” 

During his two terms as President, Washing¬ 
ton visited Mount Vernon once in a while, but it 
was a long, hard journey then. Again, in those 
troubled times, when a new government was 
being formed and many untried experiments 
being entered upon, it was difficult for the head 
of the nation to be away from the scene of 
action. 

The second home-coming from great service 
to the country was quieter than when he re¬ 
turned a military hero. He and Mrs. Washing¬ 
ton were getting old now. Both the noble old 
couple have left word that it seemed good to 
be home again. 

“ I will never go twenty miles from Mount 
Vernon again,” declared Washington; and he 
never did but once. 

A Death-bed 

After this last home-coming, life was ideal at 
Mount Vernon for several years. Washington 
was surrounded by those he loved. The con- 


122 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


sciousness of one who had done duty nobly 
was his. Wealth well used and fame enjoyed 
calmly were his also. Distinguished artists came 
to paint the great man, and shed the charm of 
their genius over his home. People noted in all 
ranks and from every land journeyed to greet 
him. It is seldom that so many elements of real 
living gather under one roof. 

A good picture of the general, as everybody 
called him, has been left by his adopted son. 

“You will meet, sir, ” said young Custis to a 
gentleman inquiring for Washington, “ an old 
gentleman riding along in plain drab clothes, a 
broad-brimmed hat, a hickory stick in his hand, 
and carrying an umbrella with a long staff which 
is attached to a saddle-bow, — that person, sir, is 
General Washington.” 

One wet day Washington came in from the 
field and sat down to dinner without changing 
his damp clothes. In the evening he was hoarse, 
but thought nothing about it. At three o’clock 
next morning he woke Mrs. Washington, and 
told her he was very ill, but he would not allow 
her to get up and summon a servant to light a 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


123 


fire. At daylight when the maid came regularly 
to make the fire, Mrs. Washington sent for the 
private secretary, Mr. Lear, who came quickly to 
the bedside of his chief. Doctors were sum¬ 
moned in haste. The usual bleedings and crude 
remedies were administered without effect. 
Now that sufficient time has passed, for history to 
tell the truth, it is boldly asserted that the igno¬ 
rance of doctors killed our first President. 

Washington realized that the end was near. 
He asked his wife to bring two wills from his 
desk. One he directed her to burn, and gave the 
other into her keeping. Next he inquired when 
his nephew Mr. Lewis and young Custis would be 
home. 

They told him. 

A little later he whispered to Mr. Lear: “ I feel 
myself to be going. I thank you for your atten¬ 
tion, but I pray you to take no more trouble 
about me. Let me go off quickly. Have me 
decently buried, and do not let my body be put in 
the vault in less than three days after I am dead.” 

Mr. Lear could not speak. He bowed assent. 

“ Do you understand ? ” whispered the general. 


124 


STORIES OF BRAHE OLD TIMES 


“Yes,” replied the secretary, who loved his chief 
as a son and was loved as well in return by the 
great man now passing from earth. 

“ ’Tis well,” replied the dying hero; and those 
were the last words he said. 

He took his hand from Mr. Lear’s to feel his 
own pulse. It fell from his wrist. The secretary 
again took the hand now chilling in death and 
pressed it to his bosom. Dr. Craik, an old friend 
and the family physician, covered his face with 
his hands. Mrs. Washington sat at the foot of 
the bed in dumb grief. Without a struggle he 
fell into the long sleep. The head of this his¬ 
toric house had gone from it forever. 

“ Is he gone ? ” asked the wife in a firm tone. 

Mr. Lear could not speak this time. He 
raised his hand to signal assent. 

“’Tis well. All is now over! I shall soon 
follow him. I have no more trials to pass 
through,” she said in the same tone. 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


125 


A Soldier’s Burial 

There have been grander funerals in the 
United States than the funeral of Washington, 
but few more touching. 

Wednesday, December 18, 1799, they laid 
him to rest. The body lay in state on the great 
piazza which he had planned himself and on 
which he so often sat and chatted with guests 
of all degrees and from every clime. Twelve 
o’clock was set for the burial, and by eleven 
crowds began to collect, but, delayed by tardiness 
of the military, services were postponed until 
three. 

Between three and four o’clock the procession 
started for the vault. Minute guns from a 
schooner on the Potomac kept up solemn salute. 
Troops with arms reversed led, next came 
musicians wailing a dirge, clergymen followed, 
and a solitary and pathetic object was led behind 
the men of cloth. It was the general’s war-horse. 
Borne on the shoulders of officers and Masonic 
brethren and directly following the animal which 


126 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


had carried him into peril was the body of the 
mighty patriot. The family and Masonic lodge 
No. 23, the corporation of Alexandria, servants, 
and all who came to pay respect made up the 
procession. 

On a high bank of the Potomac the cavalry 
halted. Infantry, Masonic brethren, and citizens 
descended to the vault. 

Rev. Mr. Davis of Alexandria read the beauti¬ 
ful service of the Episcopal church and spoke 
briefly. The Masons performed their last rites, 
and the body was placed in the vault. Last 
came the soldiers’ farewell to their beloved com¬ 
mander-in-chief. 

Cavalry sent three short, quick volleys over the 
long resting-place of the man who had led them 
to such remarkable victories. Infantry did the 
same. Eleven pieces of artillery near the vault 
boomed over the Potomac in one solemn roar. 
The setting sun tinged even the smoke with 
glory. A soldier’s eternal good night had been 
said to a soldier. There was nothing now but to 
leave the dead in peace. Sadly the crowd 
moved slowly away. 


OUR HERO OF HEROES 


12 7 


Mount Vernon had now become the home of 
a sorrowing widow. A tomb instead of a great 
personality would henceforth draw throngs to its 
gates. 



Washington’s Coach 




128 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


THE MAN IN THE OLD RED COAT 

Part I 

A queer, prim, country-looking Boston was 
the Boston of colonial times. Wide gardens 
stretched about many of the houses, and in them 
apple and pear trees grew. 

Something strange is happening in this old 
Boston on this cold day of March, 1770. Horses 
either saddled or harnessed to chaises are tied all 
about the Common and in front of many houses 
along the streets. 

Are the people on a holiday ? 

No, this is not a gay day in Boston. Do not 
stop to look at the long rows of horses on the 
quiet streets. Glance at the frightened women 
at the windows; but if you should ask them what 
is going on, the poor women could only sob out 
something about the redcoats and the South 
Meeting-house. 

Follow to a busier street, and there you will 


THE MAH IN THE OLD RED COAT 


129 

find the men who own those horses. There are 
ten thousand of them moving between a plain 
brick church and the small state-house of the 
province. 

What is going on in that church, and who are 
the dignitaries, in splendid uniforms, seen from 
time to time at the state-house windows ? 

Those ten thousand plain New England people 
are holding a town-meeting in the church while 
a worried royal governor and his council are in 
the state-house to consider how to come to terms 
with them. 

There is something on which this vast crowd 
stops and gazes, and that something is new- 
fallen snow. It is not white and pure as it came 
from the heavens, but snow dyed crimson with 
human blood. 

Angry and solemn they look as they walk 
about the blood-stained spot, and indignant are 
the glances they turn on the barracks of British 
soldiers, only a few feet away. What is it ? 
What do the blood-stained snow, the great 
town-meeting, and the royal council mean ? 
Why such tumult in Puritan Boston ? 


130 STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 

Listen to this mechanic while he explains to 
one who has just come upon the scene. Stormy 
is his tone as he says: — 

“Haven’t you heard? Those scoundrelly lob¬ 
ster-backs had a quarrel with the rope makers last 
night. A crowd collected and jeered the senti¬ 
nel, daring him to fire. The lobster-backs went 
whining to the barracks. A company was 
ordered out, and fired on the people. Maverick, 
Caldwell, a negro named Attucks, and several 
others were killed and wounded.” 

“ Fired on the people,” you say. “ Isn’t that 
against the law ? ” 

“ Of course it is against the law for any soldier 
to fire on the people without consent of the coun¬ 
cil, but who cares for their rascally laws, anyway ? 
Every lobster-back must get out of Boston or 
there will be trouble. We have stood this thing 
long enough. Do they think we are slaves ? ” 

You would hear others take up the word and 
repeat: — 

“ Do they think we are slaves ? We’ll end this 
dastardly business. Every blasted lobster-back 
must leave Boston.” 


THE MAN IN THE OLD RED COAT 


131 

“ But will Governor Hutchinson order them 
out?” you ask. 

“We will pitch them into Boston harbor if 
he doesn’t, and Sam Adams will tell him so,” is 
the rough and confident reply. 

This would be the coolest answer any one 
could get from most of the ten thousand in 
that crowd. That blood-stained snow in plain 
sight was maddening to liberty-loving New 
Englanders. 

“ What of it ? ” think the royalists in the state- 
house. “ It is not noble blood which stains the 
snow on King Street. A few common people 
have been slain by the British soldiers. What 
of it ? Why this fuss ? It is right and fitting 
that the blood of such should be poured out 
freely to sustain a king. Blood ! Life ! So far in 
history what have blood and life in common folk 
been for except to flow out freely in the cause of 
those more highly placed ? ” 

Thus reason the proud gentlemen in the state- 
house, but the plain ten thousand people about 
the Old South Meeting-house think differently. 
Blood and life to them are precious. No careless 


132 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

sacrifice of either must be made even for a 
king. 

All day the crowd has waited. Back and forth 
with committees from the town-meeting it has 
moved the short distance between the state-house 
and the church. Now late on this chill after¬ 
noon it is packed closely about the state-house. 

Every eye is turned toward the door of that 
modest brick building. Each man in the ten 
thousand seems to be watching for some one to 
come out, and a great dog watches with the 
crowd. 

Sharp ears hear the sound of feet before those 
many watching eyes can see what is coming. 
Men crowd closer that they may get nearer and 
see better; the dog exultingly wags his tail. 

A group of men presently darkens the door¬ 
way. A call rings through the clear air. 

“ Make way for the committee! Make way 
for the committee! ” 

This vast crowd is a very polite one. Quickly 
a path is opened for the men who are coming 
out. 

Among the gentlemen of this committee is a 


THE MAN IN THE OLD RED COAT 


133 


man in elegant dress. He is used to having 
crowds open to let him pass and seems to enjoy 
it. This gentleman looks like a man of impor¬ 
tance, and so he is. With great respect the 
people call him Mr. Hancock, but the eyes of 
these ten thousand are not on rich John Han¬ 
cock’s velvet clothes. 

Another man in the noble little group has 
bared his head in the presence of the people, 
and this respect for all sorts of his fellow-men 
is like the man and like the republic he is to 
assist in founding. 

He is a strong-built, fine-looking man, with 
white hair and steel-blue eyes. The hat he has 
removed is a plain hat, and the owner is known 
to every man in the vast crowd by the old red 
coat he wears . 

That coat has been darned and darned again 
by the skilful fingers of his wife, but no gar¬ 
ment in the colony is more respected than that 
old red coat. Every mechanic in Boston loves 
it, and the farmers about think it a much finer 
garment than the royal governor’s gold-bedecked 
uniform. 


134 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

Each man is craning his neck to catch a 
glimpse of that old red coat, and, looking down 
from the windows of the state-house, royal coun¬ 
cillors cast glances of fear and hatred upon the 
white head of the man who wears it. 

The face of this man is kind and his man¬ 
ners most courteous. The old coat hangs on 
the shoulders of a gentleman, and although an 
aged garment it looks not only respectable, but 
what they used to call genteel. 

The dog does not need a coat of any sort 
in order to identify the one for whom he is wait¬ 
ing. With a bark of joy he springs for the digni¬ 
fied man who has bared his head, and the crowd 
smiles in sympathy, for the dog and the old red 
coat are mingled in their minds. Both are asso¬ 
ciated with freedom’s cause. 


Part II 

Cool and smiling, the man in the old red 
coat seems master of himself and all about him. 
He bows to the light and left, and, as he passes 
along, whispers in a musical voice: — 



Tiie Man in tiie Old Red Coat 












' 









- 

















. 





















THE MAN IN THE OLD RED COAT 


135 


“ Both regiments or none. Both regiments or 
none.” The dog seems to wag approval. 

These words are caught up instantly. “ Both 
regiments or none,” fills the chill evening air 
with a murmur which is sent to the far edges 
of the crowd. From lip to lip the words hurry 
until every man has heard them. 

The committee is now borne with the crowd 
to the church. A church is a strange place for 
political tumult, but this church has witnessed 
many exciting scenes. 

The church is very full. There are people 
in the aisles, and people even crowding each 
other in the window-sills. Here, too, the crowd 
gives way to the committee. Here, too, the 
man in the old red coat whispers: — 

“ Both regiments or none.” 

The committee reports that the royal gov¬ 
ernor will not consent to the removal of both 
regiments. He has consented to the removal 
of but one. The question is put whether Bos¬ 
ton shall submit to the governor and allow one 
regiment of British soldiers within her gates. 

A “No” rings to the ceiling in reply, which 


136 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

even now seems to linger in the old church 
and echo into the ears of seventy-five millions 
of people. 

The face of the man in the old red coat is 
happy when he hears it. His restless spirit will 
not allow a moment to be lost. He spurs this 
town-meeting to quick action. Immediately a 
new committee is appointed; and a member of it 
is the man in the old red coat. 

Out from the church these seven men go — 
from church to council-hall. The vast crowd 
buries the little group in itself and fairly pushes 
it toward the state-house. The winding stairs 
are once more mounted, and seven plain Ameri¬ 
can freemen stand before Great Britain’s regal 
representatives. 

Haughtily sits Lieutenant-Governor Hutchin¬ 
son at the head of the council-table. He is in 
gorgeous dress, and gorgeous also are the twenty- 
eight councillors, the naval officers, and Colonel 
Dalrymple. Their fine scarlet coats gleam with 
gold lace, and their jewelled sword-hilts and 
gem-studded decorations make a show rich to 
splendor. 


THE MAN IN THE OLD RED COAT 


137 

The committee is invited to be seated. Rich 
Mr. Hancock is given the place of honor, and the 
governor nods him to say his say. 

A thing happens now which startles the twenty- 
eight royal councillors, and Governor Hutchinson 
cringes as he sees it. It is a strange thing, con¬ 
sidering the character of the man who does it. 
Not even his enemies accuse the man in the old 
red coat of angling for prominent place. He is 
ever ready to supply ideas and let his young 
followers take the credit; so his act at this mo¬ 
ment becomes very significant. 

This man, so cool, so courteous, so willing to 
let all honors pass him by, actually brushes rich 
young Mr. Hancock aside, and steps to the front 
himself. 

British cannon are pointed straight at the door 
of this state-house. Two regiments of British 
soldiers are just across the street. Six great war¬ 
ships are out there in the harbor, — all to uphold 
the men about that council-table. Vast power 
is close by the right hand of the royal gov¬ 
ernor. All therefore stare wonderingly at that 
man in the old red coat. 


138 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

“ What can the foolhardy creature expect to do 
against such might ? ” think the governor and his 
council. “No armies, no war-ships, are at his 
command. He has given up all his wealth for 
some crazy notion that Britain will free her 
American colonies. He is now so poor that he 
must wear an old darned coat. Not an atom of 
official power will sustain him. He stands there 
alone to take blame for his rebellious acts. Alone 
he risks the vengeance of a powerful king. How 
dare the man do it? How can he be so cool in 
the very faces of his Majesty’s officials ? ” 

Ah, here is a cheer for brave old times, the 
times when our forefathers faced dangers from 
which the king of beasts himself would shrink. 
War-ships may thunder, cannon may boom, and 
kings may hurl threats over such lionlike men as 
those, but they can never frighten them. The 
old red coat covered such a man, a man supremely 
brave. 


Part III 


The man in the old red coat begins to speak. 
Thirty-two men in gold-bedecked uniforms are 


THE MAN IN THE OLD RED COAT 


139 


forced to listen. His voice, always fine, is terribly 
earnest, but mellow and musical. 

The men about that council-table, however, 
hear no music in his tones. He is pouring truths 
from which they shrink into their unwilling ears. 

Why do the king’s councillors flush under the 
words of a plain man of the people? Some of 
them have said and no doubt now they think 
that every word this man utters “ stings like a 
horned snake.” They represent vast power. 
When this humble, unarmed man stands before 
them and demands that the royal governor take 
back his decision and remove both regiments 
from Boston, why do they listen to his imperti¬ 
nence ? 

There is stillness in the dim room when he 
pauses. A spell seems to have cast its mystic 
shadow over the minds of all. Great Britain’s 
councillors have no word of retort to make. 

The first to throw off the spell is Governor 
Hutchinson. He sets aside the wiser man and 
becomes the selfish tool of his still more selfish 
king. He announces that he will not yield to 
this Boston mob. One regiment may be quar- 


140 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

tered in the castle, but the other must remain in 
town. He ends by declaring in a weak way that 
he has no authority to remove it. 

As the words fall from the governor’s lips, 
faces of seated members of the committee be¬ 
come clouded with troubled thought. 

The back of the old red coat is toward them, 
or they would not tremble for the cause. The 
royal councillors who are looking into the face 
of the wearer know that the battle is not ended 
yet. 

Courage, gentlemen of the committee. The 
cold, stiff forms in Boston homes and the blood 
so red on King Street are goingto matter, and 
going to matter for a long, long time. 

The man in the old red coat has remained 
standing. Not a motion has he made while 
the stubborn governor was reading his decision, 
but the last word has hardly passed that official’s 
lips before the patriot takes a step forward. It 
is a very quick step, the step of a man who 
springs to the rescue when something dear is 
threatened. As he moves in the dim light he 
seems to grow tall, and now he towers over 


THE MAN IN THE OLD RED COAT 


141 

twenty-eight councillors, several military officers, 
and a lieutenant-governor of Great Britain. 

His stern blue eyes flash from face to face 
about that council-table, and from their blaze 
the councillors shrink back. He stretches out 
a palsied arm, and how it threatens ! 1 Governor 
Hutchinson begins to tremble. Brave as he 
is, surrounded by power as he is, he shrinks 
from that outstretched, threatening arm; so do 
gilded councillors, and, strange to say, so does 
Colonel Dalrymple. 

Not an eye turns from his face as the man 
in the old red coat thunders: — 

“ If you or Colonel Dalrymple have power 
to remove one regiment, you have power to 
remove both. A multitude highly incensed 
now wait the result of this application. The 
voice of ten thousand freemen demands that 
both regiments be removed. Their voice must 
be respected, their demands obeyed. Fail not 
at your peril to comply with this request. On 
you alone rests the responsibility of this decision, 
and if the just expectations of the people are 

1 We have Samuel Adams’s word for this. 


142 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


disappointed, you must be answerable to God 
and to your country for the fatal consequences 
that must ensue.” 

These are bold words to hurl at representa¬ 
tives of a mighty throne. Not a syllable of 
pleading. All is demand, and bold, imperious 
demand at that. 

Now the patriot stops speaking. His threat¬ 
ening arm is withdrawn and folded with the 
other on the breast of the old red coat, but the 
speaker stands there, grim, determined, and 
overpowering. 

The governor does not want to yield, but that 
motionless figure standing there in the twilight 
seems full of terrible power. Every man in the 
room feels that there is no coming to terms with 
the man in the old red coat. In the name of the 
people he has spoken, and kings or no kings, 
might or no might, he will be heard. 

Courage fails the king’s minions. Not a word 
can they find which will fitly reply to the splen¬ 
did reasoning which has just been forced into 
their ears. 

Sullenly Governor Hutchinson says the word, 



Council Chamber in Old State House. Boston. 























THE MAN IN THE OLD RED COAT 143 

and Colonel Dalrymple comes forward to give a 
soldier’s pledge that the removal shall be prompt. 

The grim figure relaxes now. The wearer of 
the old red coat becomes a kind and genial gen¬ 
tleman once more. His parting bow to Gov¬ 
ernor Hutchinson is most gracious. His face 
wears a smile as he steps into the cool evening 
air to receive the greeting of his fellow-citizens. 
He knows that he has made a little stroke for 
freedom, but not even the man in the old red 
coat himself dreams that more than a century- 
after you and I shall proudly talk of what he did 
that twilight hour so long ago. 

Part IV 

HISTORICAL EXPLANATION 

“ Who is the man in the old red coat ? ” you 
ask. 

When you are in Boston, go to Adams Square. 
There you will see the statue of a well-propor¬ 
tioned and rugged man. It is the statue of our 
hero of the old coat, and as you guess now his 
name was Samuel Adams. Mr. Adams was 


144 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


bitterly opposed to Britain’s sending any soldiers 
to Boston. He never approved of anything ex¬ 
cept absolute freedom for the American colonies. 

He had a great dog almost as famous as his 
master. This dog hated British soldiers so that 
he snarled at every redcoat he saw, and he had 
reason to snarl, for he was covered with scars 
from fights with them. 

Mr. Adams had inherited considerable wealth, 
but such was his interest in freedom for his coun¬ 
try that he gave all his time to the cause at sacri¬ 
fice of wealth and financial success. 

The riot which led to this demand for removal 
of all British soldiers from Boston is called the 
Boston Massacre. The spot where citizens were 
shot is marked by a circle of stones, and is not 
far from Adams Square. A bank now occupies 
the site of the British barracks. 

After the British removed those two regiments 
at command of Mr. Adams, Lord North, prime 
minister of England, used jokingly to call them 
“ Sam Adams’s regiments.” 

If you would look on the old state-house, the 
council-chamber in which this scene took place, 


THE MAH IN THE OLD RED COAT 145 

you will find them but a short walk from Adams 
Square. 

When you have looked on these relics of the 
past, take a car and go a mile up-town to the 
Museum of Fine Arts. Ask to see Copley’s 
portrait of Samuel Adams. 

Now you can gaze on the man in the old 
red coat at the moment he was making his great 
argument. Although Copley sympathized with 
England, he chose to paint her great enemy at 
his moment of boldest defiance. The darning 
on the old red coat has been covered up with 
paint. It looks quite fine, but the artist took 
care not to forget that famous garment. 



146 


STOR/ES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


A SCENE TO BE REMEMBERED 

The king of England was talking with his 
prime minister about his rebellious colonies in 
America. Another man was presently summoned 
to the presence of his Majesty. This man had 
just fled from bleak New England’s shores, driven 
away by the fury of the people. It was Thomas 
Hutchinson, acting governor of Massachusetts 
Bay Colony. 

Their talk soon drifted to the arch-enemy of 
King George, the man with whom none of the 
king’s officials could get along, the man eternally 
plotting for freedom, namely, the man in the 
old red coat. 

Mr. Hutchinson had been complaining of Mr. 
Adams as the source of all discontent. 

“ Why hath not Mr. Adams been taken off 
from his opposition by an office ? ” asked his 
Majesty. 


A SCENE TO BE REMEMBERED 


H 7 


“ Such is the inflexible disposition of the man 
that he would never be conciliated by any gift 
or office whatever,” was the reply of Governor 
Hutchinson. 

The king looked annoyed. Again and again 
had stubborn, stupid George the Third asked 
why that troublesome far-away colonist had not 
been bribed to keep his mouth fast closed on 
the unpatriotic subject of liberty. Again and 
again his agents had failed to give answer. 
Finally Governor Hutchinson hurled back this 
startling reply when the old question was again 
pressed on him. 

Old King George turned red, while the lip of 
the prime minister curled with contempt at the 
answer. Honor so rigid that it was above all 
temptation which the wealth and splendor of 
proud Britain could offer was something in which 
the noble lord did not believe, and so far as the 
slow wits of the king had revealed men to him 
gold and great titles always bought loyalty. 

The command went forth, “ that Boston Puri¬ 
tan must be bribed. Offer him $5000 a year, a 
peerage, or anything,” ordered the king; and the 


148 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

prime minister’s note-book came out, and those 
items were placed opposite the name of Samuel 
Adams. 

The first June day of 1774 was a sad one in 
Boston. Every place of business was closed, and 
over the locked doors were hung mourning em¬ 
blems. Muffled bells tolled mournfully for hours. 
Flags were at half-mast, and people were fasting 
and praying in their meeting-houses. At twelve 
o’clock British war-ships took possession of the 
harbor, and traffic even in small boats from wharf 
to wharf was stopped. The port of Boston was 
closed. Business of all kinds was given up. 
Men were idle on the streets, and starvation 
stared their families in the face. 

Boston was paying heavily for her daring 
dream of freedom and her presumption in throw¬ 
ing British tea into her beautiful harbor. The 
spirit of liberty was not quenched, however. 

During this time of want and sorrow, no man 
of influence came so near the people as Mr. 
Adams, for he actually shared their suffering. 
Although housed in comfort, he had a hard time 
supplying his little family with food. England 


A SCENE TO BE REMEMBERED 


149 

knew it. She exulted the moment his small sal¬ 
ary as clerk of the assembly stopped, for now she 
felt her opportunity had come. 

General Gage, who had been appointed gov¬ 
ernor, was instructed to bribe Mr. Adams at any 
cost. Although he was a far smoother man than 
former Governor Hutchinson, the general did not 
feel equal to the task. He looked about for a still 
more expert tool, and genial Colonel Fenton was 
the man. 

Visions danced through the mind of this 
courtly officer as he walked briskly to the humble 
mansion on Winter Street. His hand stole to 
his breast coat pocket, and a smile lighted his face 
as he felt some papers there. Snugly hidden 
were royal promises which must tempt any man. 

The gold-bedecked officer was now at the gate. 
Through an open window he saw a sight which 
set him thinking. There in his poverty-stricken 
home the man who has well been called the 
“ thorn in Great Britain’s massive side ” sat 
serenely writing. As the tempter gazed this 
thought came: — 

“What will that shabbily dressed New England 


150 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

deacon be in half an hour from now? Will he 
be one of the poor of earth with every means of 
support torn from him and his country swaying 
vengeance over his head, or will he be a peer of 
Great Britain’s mighty realm enjoying princely 
revenue from the state ? ” 

Colonel Fenton did not doubt. Again he 
patted that pocket with the rustling papers and, 
smiling, knocked on Samuel Adams’s door. 

The agent of regal power soon faced its great 
enemy. He was met by greeting courtly as his 
own and speech as smooth and keen. 

The colonel looked at the old darned coat of 
faded red, and thought of the earl’s coronet which 
he was about to place on the head of the man 
who wore it. He glanced at the faded furniture 
and exulted that $5000 a year so well offset its 
telltale shabbiness. The manly form of Mr. 
Adams’s loved son could be seen through the 
open door of another room, and the tempter 
reflected: — 

“ If riches and honor do not tempt him, father 
love will. I am sure to succeed when I extend 
that splendid annuity through the life of his son.” 


A SCENE TO BE REMEMBERED 151 

The shrewd diplomat approached the object 
of his visit with great care. He was angling for 
nothing less than an empire, and if he could stay 
the hand which was tearing it from Great Britain, 
titles and gold would be his as well as the gray¬ 
haired man’s before him. 

Winning was his smile and soft his tone as he 
said : — 

“ Mr. Adams, an adjustment of our troubles is 
very important to both. I am authorized by 
Governor Gage to say that he has been empow¬ 
ered to confer upon you such benefits as will be 
satisfactory upon condition that you cease oppo¬ 
sition to the measures of the government.” 

Here the wily tempter paused and, to make his 
bribe more effective by contrast, added: — 

“ It is the advice of Governor Gage not to 
incur the further displeasure of his Majesty. 
Your conduct is now liable to punishment. By 
act of Henry the Seventh you can be sent to Eng¬ 
land for trial. You have only to change your 
course to receive great personal advantage and 
make peace with the king.” 

The steel-blue eyes of Mr. Adams had been 


152 STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 

fixed upon the speaker with interest. At first 
they were benevolent eyes, but as the tempter 
went on they grew cold and stern. Rising 
from his chair, he indignantly replied: — 

“ Sir, I trust I have long since made my 
peace with the King of kings. No personal 
considerations will induce me to abandon the 
righteous cause of my country. Tell Governor 
Gage it is the advice of Samuel Adams to him 
to no longer insult the feelings of an exasperated 
people.” 

England’s agent had no reply to make. He 
had failed. The wealth of his great rich country 
had failed to corrupt the man they feared. One 
mighty soul existed on earth no gold could buy, 
no king could frighten. 

This scene has an humble setting, yet it is 
a very great scene. A plain, decent citizen of 
Boston in shabby clothes, and in a little candle- 
lighted room, hurls threats at a throne which 
its occupant dare not ignore. A nation in the 
wrong stands powerless before one undaunted 
man in the right. 

This age of bribery and corruption cannot 


A SCENE TO BE REMEMBERED 


153 


afford to forget this gray-haired New England 
deacon, who flung such splendid bribes from 
him in scorn. 

If plain Samuel Adams eternally plotting and 
scheming for liberty had been corrupted into 
Lord Adams, earl of Massachusetts, there might 
have been a different history of the United 
States. 



Circle of Stones marking Place of Boston Massacre 



154 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


A MARTYR FOR FREEDOM 

Twenty miles east from Hartford, Connecticut, 
is the town of Coventry. 

In brave old times a beautiful youth lived in 
this town and all the people were very proud 
of him. Women told how lively and sweet- 
tempered he was, and men pointed to his broad 
shoulders and fine athletic form and told of the 
astonishing feats he could perform. 

He could spring from one hogshead into 
another through a series. He could put his 
hand on a fence high as his head and go 
over it at a bound. He could shoot, swim, ride, 
and wrestle better than any other young man in 
all the country about, but best of all he was 
an excellent scholar. When only eighteen, he 
was graduated at Yale College with highest 
honors. 

People in Coventry were right in thinking 


A MARTYR FOR FREEDOM 


155 


this fine youth out of the ordinary. He was 
destined to great but terrible honor. 

Our youth was not rich. When he left college, 
he taught the village school. 

About the time he began teaching, all small 
towns in the New England colonies began to 
form military companies. Coventry joined with 
two other towns in forming one, and the youth 
who interests us was made captain. 

He was a good captain, and lost no time in 
beginning the study of military science so he 
could drill his men like a regular officer. 

One day news of the battle which roused all 
Great Britain’s American colonies to arms, the 
battle of Lexington, came to Coventry. People 
collected as they collected in every little town 
in America to talk over the exciting news, and 
the young schoolmaster made a speech. 

He told his fellow-townsmen that he was 
going to war, and urged others to follow his 
example. “ Let us march immediately and 
never lay down our arms until we have inde¬ 
pendence,” he cried; and many responded then 
and there. 


156 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

From being captain of militia he was now 
captain of what the British called a rebel band, 
and he was a very popular captain at that. 

After Washington’s army retreated from New 
York City it was in great peril. One-third of 
the men were without tents and one-fourth of 
the entire army were sick. A very small num¬ 
ber were fit for duty. 

Winter was coming. Our soldiers were with¬ 
out blankets and clothes, and there was no money 
to buy either. 

No wonder the soldiers began to say, “ It is 
useless to hold out longer,” and many deserted. 
We cannot blame them. There is a limit to 
what a human being can suffer and, sitting 
comfortably in our homes, it is hard to realize 
what others endured to give us liberty. 

Washington saw his army dwindling. He 
knew the British, twenty-five thousand strong, 
were feasting in New York City and boasting 
of their victories. He felt that something must 
be done to bring back courage to his dis¬ 
heartened troops and prevent Lord Howe 
from learning the true state of things. 


A MARTYR TOR FREEDOM 157 

To do this he must know the strength of the 
British and get hold of their plans. He went 
to Colonel Knowlton and asked him if he could 
name a trusty man to send as spy into the 
British lines. 

Colonel Knowlton called the young officers 
together and asked for volunteers. 

No one offered to take the dreadful risk. It 
was almost sure and disgraceful death, for the 
chances were great that whoever ventured into 
Howe’s camp as a spy would be caught. 

Finally Colonel Knowlton asked a young 
French officer point blank if he would not go. 

The officer shook his head. “ I am willing 
to be shot for freedom, but I am not willing to 
be hanged for it,” was his pithy reply. 

At this moment our hero entered. He was 
just up from a severe illness, and looked very 
pale and boyish. 

“ I will undertake it,” he said quietly. 

All the young officers in the room cried out 
to him to take back the promise. In darkest 
colors they painted the peril and disgrace, and 
urged him not to sacrifice himself. 


158 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

“ I wish to be of use,” he replied still more 
quietly, “ and if my country demands this of me, 
I will do it.” 

This tall young captain took off his uniform 
and put on a solemn brown coat with a broad- 
brimmed Quaker hat to complete the disguise. 
Taking his diploma, he started for New York 
as a schoolmaster in search of a position. 

As a schoolmaster he went into the British 
lines. Howe’s soldiers joined the rest of the 
world in liking this Quaker schoolmaster very 
much. 

He pretended to dislike the rebels, as the 
Americans were called among the British, and 
he told witty stories about them which amused 
the soldiers. 

All this time he kept eyes and ears wide 
open. Everything he heard which would be 
of use to Washington he wrote down in Latin. 

The British thought nothing of this. A 
schoolmaster was expected to write Latin. The 
soldiers thought he was arranging exercises to 
puzzle prospective pupils. 

He also drew plans of the fortifications and 


A MARTYR FOR FREEDOM 


159 

hid them in the soles of his shoes which were 
very large for the purpose. 

When the pleasant schoolmaster had learned 
all he wished, he prepared to return to the 
American lines. 

A boat was to meet him at Norwalk on the 
Hudson, and near the place was a small inn at 
which he stopped for the night. 

This Norwalk inn was kept by a Tory woman, 
and was a resort for Tories. Our spy knew 
this, but he felt safe. 

He was very happy that night. All the 
information Washington wanted had been 
gathered. Plans of all the British fortifications 
were in the loose soles of his shoes. 

To-morrow he would be back in the American 
lines. The great Washington, his beloved com¬ 
mander-in-chief, would be pleased. All his 
friends would be proud of him and, best of all, he 
had done a most daring thing to help make his 
country free. 

When he went into the inn, he noticed a man 
sitting among the crowd, who eyed him closely. 
He thought he had seen the man before. 


i6o 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


The man slipped out. Our spy thought noth¬ 
ing of it. It was a great pity, for that man went 
out to betray him. 

To this day no one knows the name of that 
man. Some say it was a Tory relative of 
the young spy, but that does not seem to be 
based on either good information or good reason¬ 
ing. If it had been a relative, there would have 
been some sort of recognition between the two, 
providing the seeming schoolmaster did not fear. 
If he did fear, why was he so careless and gay ? 
Some say it was this one and that, but really 
no one knows. All we do know is that the man 
recognized our hero and went to British head¬ 
quarters with the information. 

The young captain grew happier and happier 
as the time drew near for his boat to come, and 
was so gay and witty that people in the inn, like 
the soldiers in Howe’s army, were charmed with 
him, congratulating themselves on coming across 
such good company. 

He waved a gay good-by when he set out for 
the river, and as soon as he saw the boat coming 
he waved to it. There was no answering salute. 


A MARTYR FOR FREEDOM 161 

He stood and watched as it neared shore; but 
when it came clearly into view, his heart stood 
still, for that boat was manned by British grena¬ 
diers. 

The schoolmaster turned to flee, but sixteen 
men stood up and levelled muskets at his breast. 

“ Surrender or die,” they shouted. 

He was seized and stripped. The telltale 
papers were found in his shoes. 

They hurried him to Howe’s headquarters, in 
New York City, where the young spy confessed 
all. As General Howe listened, it is said he too 
came under the charm of that ever attractive 
young man. The pale face, the youth, the brave, 
frank confession touched the British officer, but 
he could not be merciful. There is but one 
death for a spy, and that is an awful and a dis¬ 
graceful one. 

General Howe’s headquarters was in a fine old 
mansion surrounded by gardens and lawns. It 
was called Beekman House, and stood on the 
spot where 51st Street now crosses First Avenue. 
Near the house was a greenhouse in which the 
spy was confined Saturday night 


i62 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Sabbath morning they came before daybreak 
for our tall young captain, and marched him 
to the place of execution. Even at that early 
hour there was a crowd. 

It is pleasant to read that the young English 
officers tried to be kind to the victim; but when 
they left him, he was in the hands of the most 
brutal man in all the English army. 

This man was Major Cunningham, a burly, red¬ 
faced fiend who had been born in Ireland about 
sixty years before that historic morning. He 
drank much, and was bad in all respects. After 
the war he confessed that he had illegally caused 
the death of two thousand American prisoners by 
ill treatment. 

Only the day before, this creature—one dislikes 
to speak of him as a man—kicked the plate from 
which our hero was eating off the table, and 
laughed brutally as he did it. 

The prisoner wrote letters to his mother, and 
sister, and to the young girl he was to marry. 
They were noble letters, so brave that they en¬ 
raged Major Cunningham. He tore them up 
before the prisoner’s eyes. 




Statue of Nathan Hale, New York 










A MARTYR FOR FREEDOM 163 

“ The rebels shall never know they have a man 
who can die so bravely,” he yelled. 

Our hero gave the creature a glance of quiet 
scorn, and asked for a Bible. This was denied 
most rudely. He next asked for a clergyman to 
pray with him. Major Cunningham coarsely 
said “ No.” 

“ Make your last confession,” he brawled, and 
intimated that he was in a hurry to get through. 

Washington’s broad-chested young captain stood 
up proudly. They tell us that he was very beau¬ 
tiful as he stood there ready to die. His face was 
pale. His large, intelligent blue eyes were full of 
fire. Soft, gold-brown hair rippled about his 
young face. His musical voice was rich and de¬ 
lightful as it rang out clearly over the crowd, 
saying the words which will be repeated and 
repeated: — 

“ I only regret that I have but one life to give 
for my country.” 

Major Cunningham’s next speech was too 
brutal to put in this book. He was an awful 
contrast to the one about to die. 

They hanged our hero in the morning twilight. 


164 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

The gallows was the stout limb of an apple tree 
in farmer Rutger’s orchard. 

That wicked old creature, Major Cunningham, 
gave all orders. His coarse voice was the only 
one which fell on the youthful martyr’s ear. 

In this savage manner was a fair young life 
hurled out of the world. Thus was Nathan Hale, 
our martyr for freedom, sacrificed. 





Nathan Hale’s Birthplace 











A SPEECH UNDER DIFFICULTIES 


165 


A SPEECH UNDER DIFFICULTIES 

It was five years after the Boston Massacre. 
It was five years after the man in the old red 
coat forced the royal governor to send all British 
soldiers out of Boston. Again the city was un¬ 
der military rule, and British redcoats acted as 

sentinels on every street. 

\ 

Governor Hutchinson had been sent back to 
England, and a soldier governor, General Gage, 
had come to rule Massachusetts. 

That awful day when the snow on King 
Street was red with human blood had not been 
forgotten. Year by year, when March 3 came 
round, the people had met to celebrate the Boston 
Massacre with tolling bells, mourning emblems, 
and solemn orations. 

In 1775 it was dangerous business to bring up 
that quarrel on King Street. General Gage had 
spies everywhere, and British officers threatened 


166 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

to break up any meeting held to commemorate 
the Boston Massacre. 

These threats did not hinder preparations for 
the meeting. The man in the old red coat was 
not dead yet, and on this eve of the great Revolu¬ 
tion he was surrounded by helpers as resolute as 
he. 

Everybody knew that trouble was pretty sure 
to come if a meeting were held. Nobody wanted 
the honor of speaking in the Old South Meeting¬ 
house. This one and that excused himself. 

Dr. Joseph Warren, one of the finest orators in 
Massachusetts, heard the threat and did not wait 
for a committee to beg him to take up the rough 
task of making a speech in the South Meeting¬ 
house. He asked for the honor. 

Everybody was glad that so noted a man would 
make the speech. People crowded the church to 
hear him. 

The meeting was to be held at eleven o’clock. 
Long before that time the place was full. On 
the platform were the selectmen, one of whom 
was Mr. John Hancock. Samuel Adams was 
chairman. The pulpit was draped in black cloth. 


A SPEECH UNDER DIFFICULTIES 167 

For an hour all sat looking at one another, 
waiting for the orator. At last a one-horse 
chaise stopped at the apothecary’s opposite, and 
from this chaise stepped the orator of the day. 
A black servant carrying a bundle followed him 
into the store. 

Out of the bundle came a roll which proved to 
be a robe fashioned after a Roman orator’s toga. 
With help of his servant and the people in the 
store, Dr. Warren got himself into this gown and 
walked across the street to the church. 

He did not enter by the door. Around the 
side was a window which opened off the pulpit. 
A ladder had been placed there, and the ora¬ 
tor climbed it, entering the church by the 
window. 

Mr. Samuel Adams welcomed Dr. Warren 
warmly, and so did everybody except some 
British officers who now began to crowd in at 
the door. The man in the old red coat expected 
these gentlemen, for the king was not the only 
one who kept spies on constant watch. 

Mr. Adams asked people on the front seats to 
vacate. They did it with surprising cheerfulness, 


168 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

for well they knew that he had some scheme in 
mind. 

As soon as the seats were empty, the chairman 
sent his melodious voice toward the door, and 
with extreme courtesy invited the British officers 
he saw there to come forward and accept the 
seats. 

A smile went round the church. King 
George’s officers knew that the man in the old 
red coat was never so dangerous as when most 
polite. They hesitated at first to accept, but Mr. 
Adams stood there so blandly smiling a welcome 
and extending his hand so courteously toward 
the seats that they could not refuse. One or two 
started up the aisle with a swagger, and about 
forty others followed. All were bent on mischief. 

The front row did not hold all these military 
gentlemen, so some of them were invited to occupy 
the pulpit stairs. 

Mr. Adams introduced the speaker. An Eng¬ 
lish writer says: — 

“ Dr. Warren rose, took a white handkerchief 
in one hand and thrust the other into his breeches 
pocket.” 


A SPEECH UNDER DIFFICULTIES 169 

The officers laughed at this placing of the 
orators hands. A Roman orator would as soon 
deliver a speech standing on his head as appear 
before an audience with his hands in his pockets, 
so the English said; if Dr. Warren put on the 
robe of a Roman orator, he should copy a Roman 
orator’s manners. 

Dr. Warren was in the Old South Meeting¬ 
house, the forum of the new world, for work as 
earnest as ever any Roman orator undertook in 
the Forum at Rome. He cared very little what 
British officers thought about his hands. 

When the noise of applause stopped, the orator 
began to speak of the bad effect of armies in 
times of peace. 

The forty British officers began to laugh and 
cough. 

They kept this up, and they kept turning to 
look about the church as if expecting something. 

The orator continued, undaunted. Neither 
humming nor coughing nor loud laughter could 
stop brave Joseph Warren. 

Finally the officers, seeing that ordinary annoy¬ 
ance would not trouble the speaker, determined 


170 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

to try bolder means of frightening him. At a 
wink from the others one reached up his hand so 
the orator was obliged to see what was on it. In 
the palm were several bullets. 

Dr. Warren smiled and dropped his handker¬ 
chief most gracefully over them. 

The officers laughed loudly at this and kept on 
laughing and coughing. They still gazed about 
the church as if they expected to see something. 

Mr. Adams and other patriots knew perfectly 
well what the British expected to see. A plan 
had been set on foot to break up this meeting, 
and those officers were looking for a young 
ensign who was expected to come with a gener¬ 
ous supply of rotten eggs. The ensign was to 
give the signal for a riot by throwing a rotten 
egg at the speaker. 

“ Why had the scheme failed ? ” The officers 
looked at one another and wondered. 

It had failed for a most comical reason. The 
ensign could not get to the South Meeting¬ 
house. On the way he fell. His pockets and 
a small bag were stuffed with rotten eggs. 
When this egg-padded British hero went down, 


A SPEECH UNDER DIFFICULTIES 


171 

crack, crack, crack could have been heard in 
every part of him. Rotten eggs oozed from his 
pockets, they dripped from the back of his coat. 
The bag had fallen in just the place where his 
head rolled. His hair was matted with the 
odorous stuff. When he rose, it ran in streams 
down his fine uniform. 

If ever mortal was soaked in rotten eggs, it 
was that young British officer, who had collected 
specially foul ones to soil the robe of the orator 
in the Old South Meeting-house. 

In addition to his other trouble, he hurt his 
knee so badly that he could not gather another 
supply of rotten eggs. History does not relate 
that he wished to do so. 

When the orator sat down, Mr. Adams rose 
and proposed naming one who should speak 
next year on the “ bloody massacre.” 

“Fie, fie!” cried the British officers. 

In the confusion, “ fie ” was mistaken for “ fire.” 
Those in the gallery began to jump down into 
the body of the house. Those on the street 
floor began to scramble out the windows and 
door. There was wild confusion. 


172 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

The British officers added to the noise by 
roars of laughter. 

This angered the people. Men stood ready 
to spring on the redcoats, and the officers drew 
weapons. 

Mr. Adams, always cool, held the crowd back 
and warned the officers to get out of the church 
if they would prevent bloodshed. They took 
the hint and disappeared. Another Boston Mas¬ 
sacre was prevented. 

The meeting broke up in an orderly manner, 
and Dr. Warren finished his oration in good 
style. 



Old South Meeting-house 








DISCOVERY OF AN ORATOR 


173 


DISCOVERY OF AN ORATOR 

In the wilds of woody Virginia a little less 
than a century and a half ago, one of the rare 
scenes of earth took place. 

A great crowd had assembled at the plain 
little building which was the centre of justice, 
and which gave the name Hanover Court -house 
to the place. 

The crowd was an angry one, and looked 
with special scorn at carriages out of which 
many clergymen of the county were stepping. 
No disrespect was offered these gentlemen, but 
it was plain that the undergrowl of disapproval 
was all for their benefit. 

If some angelic visitor had fluttered over that 
throng of country folk, and told them they were 
about to witness a scene so marvellous that it 
would be told for centuries, they would have 
laughed the messenger to scorn; and if the 


174 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

angel had pointed out a very poorly dressed 
young man as central figure in the picture, the 
crowd would have been more scornful yet. 

Not one would have seen material in him, 
or in fact about anything around that little 
colonial court-house, out of which a great his¬ 
toric scene could be made. 

The crowd was grumbling in no faint fashion 
at his Majesty across the sea, but grumbling was 
about all they expected to accomplish. Those 
plain men had no thought of setting aside the 
will of their king. They intended he should 
know their disapproval of his favor to a corrupt 
clergy which schemed to get rich at their expense. 
Not a lawyer of influence, however, dared take 
this case of the people against the parsons. The 
only advocate the people could get at all was a 
shiftless young rawbones of a lawyer who had 
failed in many things and never had a client in 
his life. 

He stood over there talking to his uncle, a 
clergyman of some prominence, and no more 
uncouth object could be put forward to advocate 
a cause. His clothes in themselves were a dis- 


DISCOVERY OF AN ORATOR 


i; 5 


grace to a civilized man, and he was not only 
awkward, but actually coarse in appearance. 

His attempts at farming and store-keeping had 
quickly come to naught, and now everybody knew 
that he kept his little family from starving by 
acting as bartender and porter in the small tav¬ 
ern of his father-in-law. 

The young man was of good parentage, and it 
had been whispered that he had brains. So far 
the only ones who ever had an exhibition of 
them were the examiners who e:ave him a license 
to practise law. Even two of those examiners 
were so shocked at his appearance that they 
refused to question him at all. 

At this moment so critical to him he was very 
much frightened himself for undertaking such a 
case. Hear what he says to his uncle: — 

“ You know I have never yet spoken in public. 
I fear I shall be too much overawed by your pres¬ 
ence to be able to do my duty to my clients; 
besides, sir, I shall be obliged to say some hard 
things of the clergy, and I am very unwilling to 
give pain to your feelings.” 

The uncle smiled a little sarcastically, but not 


176 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

at all unkindly, as he reproved his namesake and 
unpromising nephew for being engaged in the 
case at all. 

The nephew was roused to retort that he was 
not deemed worthy to be retained on the other 
side; besides, his sympathy was with the people. 

The uncle replied with kindly toleration: — 

“ Why, Patrick, as to your saying hard things 
of the clergy, I advise you to let them alone. 
Take my word for it, you will do yourself more 
harm than you will do them. As to leaving the 
grounds, I fear, my boy, that my presence could 
neither do you harm nor good in such a course; 
however, since you desire it of me so earnestly 
you shall be gratified.” 

The Rev. Patrick Henry entered his carriage 
and drove off, while his unpromising nephew 
dragged his lazy legs most awkwardly into the 
court-room. 

The place was packed, and if the young man 
trembled before, he trembled still more now. 

It was a trying crowd before which to make a 
first speech. On the platform, full of dignity, 
clad in rich broadcloth, and both learned and 


DISCOVERY OF AN ORATOR 177 

critical, were many clergymen. Rich planters 
and others of prominence occupied seats in front, 
while in the magistrate’s seat was the one of all 
others before which this ne’er-do-well son dreaded 
most to speak, — his own father. 

So utterly secure did the opposing counsel feel 
that he did not trouble to make a plea. He 
merely stated the law, and sat down in scornful 
unconcern at what was to follow. 

The “ sporting parsons ” looked serene. They 
had looked serene all along, and when that bun¬ 
dle of awkward bones rose, no feeling except one 
of amused contempt rose in their minds with 
him. 

The young lawyer began as everybody ex¬ 
pected he would begin — very badly. His head 
went down, and the heads of the people went 
down too. 

“ Was that the only advocate they could get? ” 

A few sentences were stammered out, and a 
feeling of great discomfort swept over those op¬ 
posed to tyranny. The very atmosphere seemed 
surcharged with shamed embarrassment. 

Suddenly the voice of the speaker glided from 


178 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

guttural hesitancy to a note exquisitely rich and 
full. Heads bent in shame were raised in aston¬ 
ishment. That crowd of country folk now saw 
what is given to but few mortals to behold. They 
saw a giant, but almost dead, intellect leap into 
sudden life. A transformed man stood at that 
bar. It seemed as if the magic of his own melo¬ 
dious voice had fanned the slumbering faculties 
into flame; and how splendid was the awakening! 

His stooping figure became erect, his gestures 
full of bold power and fine grace. All that was 
ungainly seemed to have slipped from him in 
a twinkling. His dull eyes were full of glow 
and fire, and there was witchery in every intona¬ 
tion. So perfect had become his control of that 
matchless voice, that mere emphasis produced 
laughter or tears at the speaker’s will, and 
words flashed over that court-room charged with 
greater meaning than they had ever possessed 
before. 

The people were at first startled into pleased 
attention, then they glanced at one another in 
astonishment; but soon all this stopped. Each 
man was bending forward, forgetful of everything 


DISCOVERY OF A AT ORATOR 1/9 

except the speaker on whose every word all hung 
with chained attention. 

The magistrate on the platform passed through 
the different emotions of the people. At first 
he too stared in astonishment at his son, but 
soon, forgetful that he was a magistrate and 
hardly remembering that he was a father, Mr. 
Henry also came completely under the spell of 
the orator, and laughed and cried with the rest. 

The sporting parsons were no longer serene. 
Nothing was serene in that court-room after 
Patrick Henry roused up to his task. The 
youthful speaker played so absolutely upon his 
hearers that one present has left record “ he 
made their blood to curdle and their hair to 
stand on end.” 

At first his shafts at the unrighteous greed 
of the parsons were indirect, but after a while 
he turned such a flood of direct and withering 
sarcasm upon them as had not been heard from 
human lips since the days of Demosthenes. No 
dignity, no assurance could stand up against 
such blasting scorn. The parsons fled from it 
in terror, leaving the court-room to the people 


180 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

and to him well called the “people’s matchless 
advocate.” 

For an hour the orator swayed his enthralled 
hearers at will. People from the outside heard 
something of what was going on within, and crept 
to doors and windows to catch a word. They 
saw the red-faced and excited clergymen coming 
out, and knew the reason why. Curiosity was 
whipped to highest pitch. “ Could it be that 
with the law and the king both on the side of 
the sporting parsons, as they nicknamed the un¬ 
worthy clergymen flocking to the colony for 
greed, — could it be that these might lose their 
test case, and was it really Patrick Henry who 
was holding the crowd in the hollow of his 
hand ? ” 

When the orator closed, there was wildest 
tumult. People were saying that never such 
speech fell from human lips before. The sheriff 
of the county shouted himself hoarse trying to 
quiet the throng so the jury might give their 
verdict. 

The twelve jurymen seemed to have lost their 
wits as completely as the rest. Law, the king’s 


DISCOVERY OF AN ORATOR 181 

law, was all for the parsons and against the peo¬ 
ple, but hear the verdict: — 

“ Damages one penny are awarded to Rev. 
James Maury.” 

Amid the shouting and applause which fol¬ 
lowed this announcement young Patrick Henry 
sat; and did he know himself? He, the unthrifty, 
the unsuccessful Patrick Henry — he, the centre 
of all this idolatrous admiration, the man who 
had just made one of the most eloquent speeches 
ever uttered on earth. Yes, we think he did. 
Every human being knows something of his 
own power. 

Mr. Henry saw men rushing toward him. 
He heard the sheriff trying to stop them, and 
when they put out their arms to lift him over 
the railing, he protested, but it was of no avail. 
Men who an hour ago would hardly shake his 
hand lifted him in their arms, and he who slunk 
into Hanover Court-house poor and trembling, 
came out borne on the shoulders of his fellows, 
acknowledged leader of them all. 

They carried him about the courtyard, and 
people tried to touch this young man of twenty- 


182 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


seven as of old the men tried to touch prophets 
sent from heaven. 

The waking of this intellect was all so splen¬ 
did that cold, bare facts of history appear out of 
place; but what did really happen in Hanover 
Court-house during Patrick Henry’s marvellous 
speech against the wicked sporting parsons of 
Virginia ? 

The thing of historic importance on that 
occasion was that young Mr. Henry had defied 
his king, and that was treason. The crowd 
which he swayed so absolutely upheld him in 
this defiance, and that was more treason. The 
jury in their absurd verdict mocked the king’s 
law, and that was treason too. 

To-day we know how gloriously all that 
treason ended, and we with the enthralled crowd 
in Hanover Court-house shout for brave young 
Patrick Henry and Patrick Henry’s noble trea¬ 
son on that memorable day. 


LADY DUNMORE'S BALL 


183 


LADY DUNMORE’S BALL 
Part I 

This ball took place a long time ago in 
Williamsburg, Virginia. 

In that far-off time, Virginia was much greater 
than the state which now bears the name. So 
rich and vast was it that British kings hoped to 
make a great empire out of this colony. 

Scattered over it were large plantations. In 
the midst of their broad acres lived wealthy 
planters in elegant country homes. They had 
many servants, fine horses, coaches which came 
from Europe, and most of them had also a 
winter home in the capital town, Williamsburg. 

Although a mere village, Williamsburg was a 
very gay place to the youths and maidens who 
were going from their country homes to dance 
at Lady Dunmore’s ball. 

There was little to the place except one long, 


184 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

wide street, heavily shaded by linden trees. 
Back from this street, surrounded by broad 
lawns, were comfortable homes of colonial offi¬ 
cials and the winter residences of wealthy 
planters. 

The name of that long street was Duke of 
Gloucester Street, and so it is called to-day. At 
one end of it was the state-house, and at the 
other the pride of Virginia, William and Mary’s 
College. 

The house which interests us was not on Duke 
of Gloucester Street. Just off this linden-shaded 
avenue was a park of over three hundred acres. 
Grand old trees, fine lawns, and drives made it a 
beautiful enclosure. In the midst of these fine 
grounds was the palace of the royal governor. 
It was a large brick building, with two wings, and 
considered a palace indeed by all the people of 
the province. 

Two years before the king had appointed a 
new governor to rule Virginia. This governor 
left his family in New York and lived alone in 
the palace with his secretaries and his servants. 

People in Virginia did not like this new gov- 



Fine Old Southern Home, Almost a Counterpart of Lord Dunmore s Palace. 
(“ Homewoodone of the Residences of Charles Carroll of Carrolton.) 



























LADY DUNMORE'S BALL 


185 


ernor. They laughed when told that they must 
call him “ your Excellency,” and they laughed 
still more at the rules which were made, telling 
everybody how to bow and even how to look at 
him. When the governor rode, outriders in 
splendid liveries were in attendance; and alto¬ 
gether he tried to act as if he were the king 
himself. 

The name of this haughty, surly governor was 
Lord Dunmore. Nobody trusted Lord Dun- 
more. He was let alone in his big palace among 
the trees. 

One day it was whispered that Lady Dun- 
more, his wife, was expected at the palace. 

Virginians did not know whether they could 
like Lady Dunmore or not, but when she rode 
through Duke of Gloucester Street, they all 
went out to look at her. 

She was in a grand coach, drawn by four 
horses. With her were two daughters and three 
sons. 

Her face was very sweet and her daughters 
were bright, rosy girls. People liked the looks 
of their governor’s wife better than they liked 


186 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


him. They said, “ We will honor her coming by 
an illumination.” 

Thousands of wax candles were stuck on the 
green trees and burned to their last wick in that 
twinkling starlight way which no electric illu¬ 
mination will ever rival. 

For the moment hearts were lighter that there 
was some good-will between the people and the 
palace. Virginians had been getting so angry 
at the king and the royal governor that many 
of them would not even say “ Amen ” when the 
clergymen prayed for his Majesty. Gossips had 
spent much time talking about all this, but soon 
they had something pleasanter to chat over. 
Hospitable Virginia was not content with an 
illumination. The House of Burgesses had re¬ 
solved to give a ball in honor of Lady Dunmore. 

Preparations began at once. Rich people hur¬ 
ried in from the country. Brass buttons and 
sword-hilts were made to shine. Laces were 
smoothed out. Young legislators were planning 
dances, and girls in the broad homes among the 
trees were wild with delight. 

On Duke of Gloucester Street was a small 


LADY DUNMORE'S BALL \87 

tavern which Lord Dunmore hated. He called 
it a nest of sedition. Its real name was Raleigh 
Tavern. 

There the young men of Virginia met and 
planned to overthrow the measures of the king 
and himself. 

Raleigh Tavern did not deserve Lord Dun- 
more’s name while the young men were planning 
Lady Dunmore’s ball. It was crowded, as usual, 
with members of the House of Burgesses, but 
all the talk was of dances and frills and how 
best to entertain her Ladyship. 

A few men worked in an upper chamber, 
unmindful of the ball. One was a tall, dark 
man, named George Mason. With him was a 
thin, pale man, named Patrick Henry. At that 
time they were at work on a paper which was 
forerunner of the Declaration of Independence. 

Two far greater men were not working in that 
upper room at this festive time. One was gay 
young Thomas Jefferson and the other sedate 
George Washington. Both loved to dance, and 
were as eager for the ball as the giddiest girl 
in Williamsburg. 


188 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


The ball was to be in the state-house. That 
long, narrow hall in which Patrick Henry had 
startled the world by his eloquent threat — “ Caesar 
has his Brutus, Charles the First his Cromwell, 
and George the Third will profit by their example. 
If that be treason, make the most of it ” — was 
being hung with royal red. 

No one was thinking of stamp acts, of tea 
taxes now. Music was to soften cries of 
treason. The lionlike orator himself sat there 
smiling and interested in the decorations. He 
was not always roaring at tyrants. 

We will leave them getting ready for the ball, 
and glance at another scene. 



Raleigh Tavern 














LADY DUNMORE'S BALL 


189 


Part II 

Soon after Lady Dunmore rode up Duke of 
Gloucester Street, another stranger dashed into 
Williamsburg. 

He did not come in such splendid state as 
Lady Dunmore, but he roused the people far 
more than that grand dame had done. 

The stranger was a mud-spattered horseman, 
and he came from Boston. 

Stopping at the Raleigh Tavern, he told a 
little news which spread rapidly. Boston was in 
trouble. For throwing British tea into her beau¬ 
tiful harbor the king and his Parliament had re¬ 
solved to punish her severely. 

On June 1 her port was to be closed until 
she promised to obey any law which George the 
Third and his councillors might make. This 
meant that British war-ships would stop all trade. 
No vessels could come to port with spice or cloth 
or any of the necessaries of life. Farmers across 
the river could not bring wood or milk into the 
city. No one would be allowed to trade even 
from wharf to wharf. Business would be ruined, 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


i go 

poor men would have no work, everybody would 
suffer, and some would starve. 

It was a cruel law, and roused the whole coun¬ 
try. All Williamsburg poured into the street as 
soon as the news went round. Bitterly did the 
people blame their king for such merciless se¬ 
verity toward any part of his American colonies. 

When the messenger came out of Raleigh 
Tavern and went down Duke of Gloucester Street 
to the state-house, a great crowd was at his heels. 

The House of Burgesses had not been long in 
session that pleasant spring morning. Business 
was dragging. Just then gay conversation better 
suited the mood of those social Virginians than 
measures of taxation. They were yawning over 
stupid law-making and thinking of Lady Dun- 
more’s ball. 

The young legislators did not yawn long. 
The noise of tumult soon reached their ears. It 
came closer and closer. Some of them went to 
the window and saw a throng of people rushing 
toward the state-house. What did it all mean ? 

In a few moments the crowd was surging into 
the building. Soon it was at the door of the 


LADY DUNMORE'S BALL 


191 

Hall of Burgesses. A booted and spurred horse¬ 
man was centre. It was plain that he came as 
messenger to the House of Burgesses. 

“From the North? From Boston?” was 
heard in all parts of the hall,' and men careless 
of rules rushed from their seats and surrounded 
this sun-browned New Englander, who had rid¬ 
den from his far northern home on horseback 
with a message to this sister colony. 

When the truth was known, Lady Dunmore’s 
ball was swept out of mind in a twinkling. Gay 
young Thomas Jefferson was something more 
than a squire of dames before he heard the mes¬ 
senger’s last word. In the same short space 
Patrick Flenry had changed from a lazy onlooker 
to a fiery orator. The pleasant blue eyes of 
Richard Henry Lee became determined ones, 
and tall George Washington resolved: — 

“ If need be, I will raise one thousand men in 
Westmoreland County, subsist them at my own 
expense, and march to the relief of Boston.” 

The messenger was brought before the House, 
and members went to their seats to hear formally 
what they knew already. 


192 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

Warm Virginia hearts were stirred. Men 
sprang to their feet, not singly, but in groups, to 
cry “ Shame ! ” and declare that a blow at Boston 
was a blow at Virginia. 

Fiery words poured from eloquent lips. The 
course of Great Britain was denounced in no 
gentle terms, and resolutions were passed to send 
sympathy and help to Massachusetts. 

Some of the members went out to decide what 
the message should be. They knew England 
would blame them for sending any message and 
Lord Dunmore would punish all he dared. This 
did not frighten them. 

“ What should their message be ? ” The 
people of Boston were Puritans, and Virginians 
were a little awed by the solemn life their north¬ 
ern neighbors were supposed to live. Wishing 
to be polite, Mr. Lee inquired: — 

“ In times of great trouble what do they do in 
Boston ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Get a history of the Puritans 
and find out,” suggested lively Mr. Jefferson. 

Soon several tall, blue-eyed young men were 
bending over an old history. I wish a snap-shot 


LADY DUNMORE'S BALL 


193 


could have been taken of that group, for history 
will long tell of their deeds and fame. 

It is certain that one was Richard Henry Lee, 
who later offered the daring resolution for inde¬ 
pendence. The leader was Thomas Jefferson, 
who wrote the Declaration of Independence — at 
this time about thirty-one years of age. 

“The Puritans set apart a day for fasting and 
prayer,” announced Mr. Jefferson. 

“We will do it too,” cried these brilliant and 
gay Virginians. 

Pencils went to work, and with further help 
from the old history a resolution was drafted and 
June 1 was set apart as a day for fasting and 
prayer. 

In words which those kind-hearted Virginians 
considered long enough and solemn enough to 
suit the Puritans, the people were asked to go to 
church and pray God to stop the great wrongs 
which threatened the liberty of America. 

Of course the king and Parliament were re¬ 
buked by these resolutions. Lord Dunmore 
heard what was going on before the House of 
Burgesses had time to finish voting on them. 


194 


STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 


Indeed, before they were half finished an officer 
in splendid scarlet uniform appeared at the door 
of the House and calmly entered. 

He was the governor’s secretary, and he pro¬ 
ceeded to read a paper commanding the members 
of the House of Burgesses to appear before the 
governor. 

Upstairs to Lord Dunmore’s council-room 
these spirited Virginians filed and soon faced the 
man sent to rule them in the name of the 
king. 

He stood in robes of state to receive them. 
In his hand was a copy of the resolutions which 
asked people to go to church and pray to be 
delivered from such governors as he. 

Lord Dunmore read a speech in an angry, 
quivering voice, while his brow was wrinkled with 
fury. He said that the resolutions reflected 
highly on his Majesty, King George, and being 
the king’s representative he could not allow the 
gentlemen facing him to meet and pass such 
resolutions. This was called dissolving the 
House of Burgesses or breaking it up. 

Lord Dunmore had dissolved this Virginian 


LADY DUNMORE'S BALL 


195 


legislature before; indeed, he had quite a habit 
of dissolving it. 

The young legislators did not appear to mind 
the punishment. When the governor turned 
them out of the state-house, they had found a 
place to go and complete what they called 
colonial business. They went to Raleigh Tav¬ 
ern. 

Those spirited young men feared their surly 
governor as little as they cared for his opinion. 
As soon as the secretary had finished reading the 
governor’s message of dissolution, some one called 
out: — 

“To the Raleigh! To the Apollo room of 
the Raleigh! ” 

They rushed like schoolboys out of the council- 
chamber and hurried to the tavern. Here the 
treasonable message of sympathy to Boston was 
completed, and the messenger speeded on his way 
with hearty farewells. 

But the ball! Must the girls in those broad 
homes fold up their fine gowns and not see Lady 
Dunmore in her splendid robes ? 

No; in spite of excitement about royal George 


196 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

decorators went on hanging royal colors in the 
long hall of the House of Burgesses. 

Dressing for Lady Dunmore’s ball did not 
stop while rebellion was being plotted against her 
husband at the Raleigh. 

The evening of the ball came in due time. 
Lights gleamed from every window of the state- 
house. Coaches of country grandees were rolling 
up Duke of Gloucester Street. Out of them 
tripped pretty young ladies and tall gallants. 
All that was splendid in rich Virginia was out 
for this grand occasion. 

Humble folk thronged Duke of Gloucester 
Street. They looked specially at a magnificent 
coach drawn by four white horses. Around the 
coach were outriders in splendid livery, and in it, 
sparkling with old-world splendor, was smiling 
Lady Dunmore, with her husband. Other coaches 
followed in an imposing procession. 

Amid much bowing and courtesying, the great 
people from the palace were led to a richly car¬ 
peted platform. That platform served very well 
for a throne now, but a few hours before, you 
remember, the treasonable message of sympathy 
to Boston was read from it. 


LADY DUNMORE'S BALL 


19; 


Ah, that platform was a very, very dangerous 
throne for Lord and Lady Dunmore to mount! 

No danger, however, appeared that night. Gay- 
ety seemed to reign in the old hall. The govern¬ 
or’s wife opened the ball, and her daughters and 
attendant ladies danced with Washington, Jeffer¬ 
son, Lee, and other young legislators until the 
stars gave way to morning light. 

It is hard to see a great rebellion underneath 
this bright scene. Those brilliant members of 
the Virginia House of Burgesses jested and 
played the gallant with careless air, but deep in 
their hearts something had risen. All this gilded 
pretence of royal splendor could not still it. 
That something was a passionate longing for 
liberty. With Lady Dunmore’s jewels gleaming 
in their eyes a growing resolve to be independent 
of royal governors and all that pertained to 
royalty came so near the surface that jests and 
gay talk could not wholly cover it. 

So they danced that night. For a few hours 
Lady Dunmore’s ball covered the turmoil of a 
country on the eve of a revolution. 

This was the last assembly ball of Virginia. 


198 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

Nevermore did the Old Dominion bend the knee 
to royal England. This gay tripping was over 
the mouth of an awful volcano, the volcano of the 
American Revolution. War and strife and blood 
were unseen guests at Lady Dunmore’s ball. 

In a few hours cannon were pointed at her 
palace among the trees. Rows of muskets 
strewed her fine floors. Guards took possession 
of her beautiful grounds. Her husband had fled 
for his life, and Lady Dunmore herself—yes, jewel- 
bedecked, smiling Lady Dunmore—was a fugitive 
from this same Williamsburg which welcomed 
her so delightfully three or four evenings before. 



• 7 ” 

* JL_ 

Lady Dunmore’s Ball 
















































RICHARD HENRY LEE'S RESOLUTION 199 


RICHARD HENRY LEE’S RESOLUTION 

It is a council-chamber of considerable size 
and some dignity. The platform is two steps 
above the floor, and on it is a plain mahogany 
desk. The rich red of its flat top is relieved 
by the white glimmer of a handsome silver ink- 
stand. 

Behind the table sits a man about thirty-nine 
years of age. He is tall, thin, inclined to stoop, 
but of dignified presence and handsome face. 
There is fire in his eye, a little petulance about 
his lips, but a boldness mingles with a few eccen¬ 
tricities of manner which stamps him as a man of 
power. He is elegantly dressed in fine velvet, 
silk hose, and all the buckles and ruffles which 
complete the toilet of a fashionable gentleman of 
this time, and his attitude indicates vanity. 

At his right in front of a similar desk sits a 
clerk with quills all sharpened for use, and around 


200 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


in a semicircle are grouped probably about forty 
men. 

Some of the most remarkable men the world 
has known are among this forty, and they are 
bent on one of the most daring undertakings in 

The crowd is clean shaven and bewigged, while 
their dress varies from the austere garb of the 
Puritan to the elegance of the cavalier. 

Something is about to happen in this council- 
chamber. The door is locked and guarded. 
Men are thinking deeply and glance restlessly 
from a group of youngish, handsomely dressed 
cavaliers to a plainer group, the central figure of 
which is a man of middle height. 

This man is muscular and erect, with a fine 
face full of masterful intelligence. With the 
aristocratic gentleman on the platform this plainly 
dressed man shares a unique honor, the honor of 
having a price set upon his head. 

The assembly do well to watch the powerful 
face of this Puritan, for even the man behind the 
silver inkstand looks down and obeys the silent 
command which he reads in the keen blue eyes 



RICHARD HENRY LEE'S RESOLUTION 201 

in front. This strong man is the rock on which 
this assembly rests. He is the leader of the 
leaders. It is the man of the old red coat. 

The restlessness settles into a hush and the 
hush into a silence so deep that it seems to still 
the very breath as one of the cavalier group rises 
in his seat. 

The Puritan opposite folds his arms deter¬ 
minedly and sets his lips more grimly. The col¬ 
leagues grouped immediately about the man who 
has risen, settle back in their seats flushed and 
resolute. Rugged cheeks pale, firm lips tremble, 
and timid men begin to shrink. 

The man about to speak is nearly six feet tall, 
but slender. His face is pleasing for its kindly 
and brilliant expression, while grace of form and 
manner add the crowning touch to an attractive 
and powerful personality. One hand, apparently 
useless, is held at his side and covered with a 
neat bandage of black silk. The other holds a 
small slip of paper which has since become one of 
the treasures of a mighty nation. He looks the 
agitated assembly in the eye, and in a firm voice 
reads: — 


202 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


“Resolved: — That these united colonies are, and of 
right ought to be, free and independent states; and that 
all political connection between them and the State of 
Great Britain is and ought to be totally dissolved.” 

Totally dissolved ! Break forever from the 
land of their forefathers? Set up a new nation ? 
Many not specially timid ones shake their heads. 

“ We have no resources and are few in num¬ 
ber,” they say; “ besides, we have called Eng¬ 
land our country since childhood. Some of 
us have fought for her — freely exposed our 
lives. Our kindred are across the sea — well, 
this step is a hard one for many of us to take, 
and then we are not sure that it is wise.” 

Then the hesitating ones glance at the man 
who is on his feet, speaking with impassioned 
eloquence in favor of breaking loose from the 
parent land. They wonder at his awful bold¬ 
ness, and see his dangling body framed with 
the rude cross-bars of a wooden gallows, and 
over it — how grewsome the thought! — British 
soldiers inscribing “ rebel ” and “ traitor.” Ah ! 
Will they too dare to risk their all ? 

None of this hesitancy appears in the faces 


RICHARD HENRY LEE'S RESOLUTION 203 

about the Puritan, and the young Southerners 
are bold and confident to a man. 

In a short speech the mover of this daring 
resolution urges its adoption and takes his 
seat. 

The deed is done. The first step toward 
bringing a new nation into being has been 
taken. Bold Richard Henry Lee, upheld by 
a single colony, has thrown down the gauntlet 
to one of the mightiest nations of earth. He 
has hurled life, fortune, and every earthly pros¬ 
pect into the arena with this defiant move to 
split an empire. 

As Mr. Lee sinks into his seat all eyes turn 
once more from him to the man in Puritan garb. 
Samuel Adams has more important work than 
seconding motions. He leaves such things to 
younger men. The piercing blue eyes turn 
toward rotund John Adams and direct him to 
get on his feet with all speed and second that 
motion. 

The motion is seconded, and the secretary of 
Congress, Charles Thompson, records: — 

“ Certain resolutions respecting independency 


204 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


being moved and seconded — Resolved, that the 
consideration of them be referred till to-morrow 
morning, and that the members be enjoined to 
attend punctually at ten o’clock in order to take 
the same into consideration.” 

John Hancock rises behind the silver inkstand, 
and lets fall the gavel. The key is turned on 
that fast-locked door, and members of this Con¬ 
gress go out of Independence Hall into the sweet 
June air to consult about and think over one of 
the greatest questions ever given a body of men 
to decide. 



Richard Henry Lee 





THE COMING OF CsESAR RODNEY 


205 


THE COMING OF CESAR RODNEY 

We were fighting the great war of the Revo¬ 
lution which finally made us a free country. 

People in the thirteen colonies had sent their 
best men to Philadelphia to a Congress. 

This Congress had been talking about the 
Declaration of Independence for several weeks. 

Some thought we should declare ourselves 
free from the rule of England. Others said 
we were not wise enough to rule ourselves. 

It was now the second day of July, 1776. The 
vote for or against independence was to be taken. 
About half the members of Congress were for 
independence. Some of the other half did not 
know what to do, and the rest were against 
throwing off English rule. 

Delaware had sent three delegates. Their 
names were Thomas McKean, George Read, 
and Caesar Rodney. 


206 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Judge McKean and Mr. Rodney were for 
independence. Mr. Read was against it. 

When the time to vote was nearing, it so 
happened that Caesar Rodney was seventy miles 
away. Judge McKean sent for him. 

Not a moment did the patriot delay. He 
mounted a swift horse immediately, and, through 
mud and slush, night and day, he rode toward 
Philadelphia as fast as he could go. When one 
horse gave out, he stopped just long enough to 
get another, and then tore on with all his might. 

In Philadelphia there was great anxiety among 
friends of freedom, for unless Rodney came, all 
would be lost they thought. 

While he was nearing the scene of action, the 
bell on the state-house at Philadelphia was clang¬ 
ing a sharp summons. 

Men were hurrying in excited but separate 
groups to their seats in the council-chamber. 

A man of great dignity stood at the outer 
door, looking anxiously down the street. It was 
Judge McKean. 

Some of the groups smiled scornfully as they 
passed him. 


THE COMING OF CsESAR RODNEY 


207 


Others stopped, and with great sympathy they 
too cast longing eyes far down the dusty 
street. 

Nothing was to be seen. Pale and disap¬ 
pointed faces were turned toward the council- 
room. It was plain that freedom’s champions 
were almost broken-hearted. 

The strokes of the bell grew slower. With 
nervous and excited steps his friends had hur¬ 
ried to their seats. Now the watcher at the 
door was left alone. 

His face was very sad. With George Read 
against him and Rodney far away, he could not 
pledge his beloved Delaware for liberty. Hope 
of a free land must die, and the erect head of 
Thomas McKean was bent in bitter disappoint¬ 
ment. 

Still, he would not give up. So long as the 
bell continued to ring he would watch and try 
to hope, but the moment came when the bell 
was about to stop. 

He, like his friends, must cease to hope and 
enter that council-hall, soon to be the scene of 
a lost cause. 


208 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


At that moment he almost hated the place. 
In that plain room, he thought freedom was 
about to die and tyranny and stupidity to 
triumph. 

He turned his bowed form slowly. A few 
unwilling steps were taken toward the dreaded 
room — when hark ! What was that ? The tall 
man paused. Was it the sound of a horse’s 
hoof ? It seemed to be. 

The bent form sprang erect, and Thomas 
McKean strode to the door again. 

He saw a cloud of dust flung off from the 
feet of a horse urged on at tremendous speed, 
and, joy unspeakable, that horse was headed for 
the state-house. 

A tall, slim, odd-looking man was on his back, 
and the radiant face of the watcher at the door 
told that the man on whom a nation’s fate 
depended had come at last. 

The tide had turned as if by miracle. 

A moment more and the mud-spattered horse¬ 
man sprang from his panting steed into the 
outstretched arms of the dignified man who had 
waited for him so anxiously. 


THE COMING OF CAESAR RODNEY 20Q 

Caesar Rodney did not need to be told that 
he was just in time. Far on the outer edge of 
Philadelphia streets he too had heard that sum¬ 
moning bell. 

With hardly a word, Judge McKean took the 
mud-spattered rider by the hand and led him 
into the council-hall. 

The clank of those spurred boots on the 
chamber floor caused every head to turn, and 
all knew what it meant. 

Delaware was for the cause. The wavering 
would now stand for freedom, and the vote for 
independence would be unanimous. 



The Coming of Rodney 



210 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


A NATION’S BIRTH HOUR 

The hands of the clock are travelling toward a 
great hour — a very great hour, yet how quietly 
it is stealing upon an unconscious world to¬ 
night ! It is an hour which the future shall 
celebrate with wildest joy, an hour which shall be 
remembered through the ages, the hour when a 
young, strong champion of liberty shall spring 
into being: it is the birth hour of this mighty 
republic, the evening hour of eight, July 4, 

177 5- 

What a strange, still Fourth to an American. 
Where are the boys of Philadelphia, and why do 
they let a time so momentous pass like this ? Ah, 
there is no magic in that word “ Fourth ” to the 
boys of Philadelphia! Their great holiday is on 
the birthday of a king who lives somewhere over 
the sea and whom many of their parents do not 
like. To-night, yes, even on this great night, the 


A NATION'S BIRTH HOUR 


211 


boys are busy with nothing more important than 
sitting on the front steps, trying to keep cool. 
Perhaps one now and then will rouse himself to 
wonder what is taking place in the brick state- 
house down the street. 

There is mysterious bustle about the state- 
house. Here and there men are stationed among 
the trees, and they stand along the paths. These 
men wear no uniforms, but they seem to be on 
guard. No one can enter the state-house until 
he has satisfied these citizen sentinels that he 
has the right to do so. 

In one corner of the building is the unpreten¬ 
tious hall about which all interest centres. Fast 
locked is the broad white door which leads into 
this council-hall, and guards stand both inside 
and out. 

In the corridor men are waiting in anxious 
expectation, and in fact the very air seems full 
of something both mysterious and important. 

Within the hall ranged about the speaker sit 
between forty-five and fifty men. Their appear¬ 
ance is not fine just now. Wigs are crooked on 
many a noble head. Perspiration trickles down 


212 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

excited faces, and ruffles are in a wilted and soiled 
condition. To add to other discomforts mos¬ 
quitoes and flies from a neighboring stable swarm 
in and bite through the thin silk stockings of the 
gentlemen. Even in the dim candle-light weary 
President Hancock looks older than his thirty- 
nine years, and a worn crowd of very tired men 
sit about him. 

These hot and tired men form a group which 
will never be forgotten. Untold millions will look 
reverently on each weary worker, and long cen¬ 
turies shall cast grateful glances on that small 
hall in Philadelphia because of them. 

How little the great sleepy world is dream¬ 
ing that on this hot night of July 4 a small 
group of men in a far-off British colony is tear¬ 
ing an empire from one of Europe’s mightiest 
monarchies. Kings stretch their sceptres, wear 
their crowns, and mount their thrones as proudly 
to-night as if nothing like this could ever stay 
their power; but sceptred and crowned though 
they are not one of them would like to meet the 
determined eyes of this group of what they call 


common men. 



Independence Hall, Philadelphia. 
















A NATION'S BIRTH HOUR 


213 


To-night they do not know of a certain bell 
hanging in a small brick tower of an ordinary 
provincial state-house. This sweet bell will 
nevermore charm the ears of kings or of kings’ 
officials. On it is written : — 

“ Proclaim liberty through all the lands to all 
the inhabitants thereof.” From this night it 
shall be called Liberty Bell, for soon it is to be 
freedom’s messenger and ring out the news that 
liberty for all mankind is near at hand. How¬ 
ever, they do not know all this, and what care 
kings and nobles for an humble group of men and 
a little bell in the wilds of far-away America? 

The countries of proud old Europe are not the 
only ones unconscious of this great time. So 
secretly has this assembly worked, that the 
thirteen colonies themselves are not aware that 
the mighty change expected has come at last. 
Even Philadelphia does not dream that a nation 
is being founded within her boundaries on this 
July night. 

Inside the hall dusky evening shadows have 
begun to creep and are a refreshing change 
from the rays of sweltering heat which all 


214 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

day has poured so mercilessly over this tired 
assembly. 

There is a document on the clerk’s desk. Let 
our glance at it be one of care. Every govern¬ 
ment on this round globe will feel a shock at 
some things it declares. It is one of the boldest 
papers ever penned by man, and will send some 
ringing truths thundering through the centuries. 

These forty men almost know the document by 
heart. For weeks each clause, each line, and 
each word in it has been hotly discussed. In 
parts and as a whole the clerk has been compelled 
to read and reread it. Giant intellects have 
clashed over it and battled for the best. Not a 
syllable has been allowed to remain which would 
carry a weak spot into the mighty structure these 
men were rearing for the future. 

All this has ended at last. Hot debate is 
hushed into solemn calm. Conflict is ended. 
The Declaration of Independence is bound to 
pass, and to leave their work well done is now 
the only wish of all. 

Most of the gentlemen would not care to 
be pictured at this supreme moment, but some 


A NATION'S BIRTH HOUR 215 

would not mind. Their thoughts are far away 
from crooked wigs and wilted ruffles. The hour 
for which they have lived and prayed is here. 
The free country of their dream is about to 
become a reality. Their great hour of triumph 
is here, and their faces are beautiful with joy. 

One we have seen before in a greater crowd 
in Boston. We knew him then by the old red 
coat he wore. That has been replaced by a 
finer now, but at such a time as this there is 
no mistaking Samuel Adams. 

Another over in the Virginia group does not 
look so happy. He is a very tall young man 
with sandy hair. It is none other than the 
bold author of the document, Thomas Jefferson, 
and the changes made in it by older and more 
cautious men irritate him almost beyond en¬ 
durance. So nervously does he twist and turn, 
that fatherly old Benjamin Franklin leaves his 
seat to go and say a soothing word and joke 
his young colleague into better mood. 

The minutes are slipping quickly toward 
the hour of freedom, and as they speed tow¬ 
ard that supreme moment the stillness becomes 


216 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


intense. Locked doors cannot keep this atmos¬ 
phere of expectation within the four walls 
of Independence Hall. The tense stillness 
steals into the corridors. Guards are on 
the alert, and it is hard not to believe the 
legend which tells us that the old bell-ringer 
crept to the belfry tower and stood there ready 
to startle the world with the glorious news. 

The clerk takes up the document for a 
final reading. He rattles off the rolling sen¬ 
tences glibly now. Every ear is bent to listen. 
Every mind is strained to detect a flaw. 

It does not take long to read the paper which 
is to revolutionize the world. Once more it 
is placed upon the table. 

No final corrections are suggested this time, 
no further debate is attempted. As it is worded 
now, the Declaration of Independence will stand 
forever. 

One last act remains. With quick-drawn 
breath these daring men realize that the mo¬ 
ment for supreme bravery has come. Now they 
are to fling the yoke of the autocrat aside forever 
and cast the final vote for freedom. Ah, pause 


A NATION'S BIRTH HOUR 


21 7 


and think what it means as each man utters the 
“ ay ” which hurls his puny strength against 
one of the most powerful nations on the globe. 

“ Why pause ? Why stop to think of a hand¬ 
ful of men responding to a roll-call ? It is not 
much trouble for them to vote, and the scene is 
so very tame.” 

Tame! Every vote cast so quietly this even¬ 
ing is destined to shake autocratic power 
throughout the world. Each letter in that little 
“ ay ” will bring a priceless gift to unborn mill¬ 
ions. Few single acts since time began have 
been so vast in consequence, so great in benefit, 
as the simple act of voting for independence. 

Henceforth every man in the room stands 
opposed, not only to the powerful rulers of the 
world, but also to stupid millions who are ever 
opposed to change. That daring vote over 
a century and a quarter ago has made the 
world a fairer place for you and me. Look 
then with gratitude and admiration. This line 
of forty-five men is the bravest that ever faced 
a foe. 

The door, then, of Independence Hall is not 


218 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


locked on Great Britain alone to-night. These 
fearless founders of a nation have turned the 
key on almost all the world. When his vote 
for liberty is cast, each man here must face the 
rage of a greater multitude than ever man faced 
before. Give him therefore a hero’s due. Your 
admiration cannot be too great. He merits 
every act of homage which we who reap the 
benefit of his vote can give. 

Each man is now on record. The last vote 
has been checked off. A list lies before Mr. 
Thompson. “ A list! A document! Both on 
a plain table in a little insignificant city in the 
wilds of the new world ! What is there in that 
picture to stir the world ? ” 

“ Bring before us the splendid marching hosts 
of European armies. Let us hear the roar of 
guns, the clash of battles. Show us the 
splendors of the kings of earth and not insist 
that we gaze on a list of names,” you say. 

Softly! That list of names is not much of a 
show, but in the few moments it has taken to 
write each tiny “ ay ” do you know what hap¬ 
pened ? Do you realize that in those few 


A NATION'S BIRTH HOUR 219 

moments the history of the world has been 
changed ? Has it come to you that a great tie 
has been severed ? Do you grasp the idea that 
thirteen British colonies have been changed into 
the United States of America? Ah! you do 
begin to see something in that list of names. 
Your eyes are bent on that voting list with 
reverence now. Opposite each name is written 
but one tiny word, yet how that small word will 
ring through this great world! It summons the 
oppressed of every clime to enjoy the “ Life, 
Liberty, and Happiness ” God intends for all. 
Your eyes are on one of the greatest single 
objects in history, for hidden in that list of names 
is the beginning of this mighty republic which 
eighty millions of us love so well. 

Business goes on as quietly as if these men 
had not twisted the affairs of this big world so 
sharply. 

An engrossed copy of this great document is 
ordered, and President Hancock and Charles 
Thompson are authorized to sign for Congress 
until the paper is in shape for the signatures of 
all. 


220 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Quickly these gentlemen take the pen and by 
dim light trace their names. From out the darker 
background the daring men who have taken such 
a bold stand look on. “ Rebels ” will be their 
titles now, and what will be the end ? 

Power-blinded kings of earth do not wish to 
know “ that all men are created free and equal" 
nor will they submit to have the dangerous truth 
hurled so flatly in their faces when armies and 
power are close at hand to crush the men who 
declare it. 

Peril stares this band of inflexible men in the 
face, and it is no common peril. Each one knows 
as he sits there in the darkening hall that from 
this hour he will be marked for the sharpest 
punishment a cruel age can give. Not only 
prison and loss of worldly goods threaten, but he 
may be shot like a dog or be hung like the vilest 
criminal. 

It is a great hour, but an awful and a solemn 
hour. 

The document is now guarded with extreme 
care. Before the outer door is opened at all it is 
hid away. Soon Charles Thompson is hurrying 


A NATION'S BIRTH HOUR 221 

across the open space with a small strong box 
under his arm, and in that box is the paper which 
has been nobly called “ the title deed of liberty.” 

Booted and spurred horsemen have waited at 
this inn for hours. They know what is to be 
expected from Independence Hall this evening, 
and they are ready. 

A shout of triumph greets the glad news, and 
with a hasty good-by these couriers of freedom go 
dashing over the land to kindle every town and 
village on the route into a flame of excitement. 

Thus an infant nation begins its lusty life. 
Quietly these men with tired faces and crooked 
wigs have put magic into that word “ Fourth.” 
Nevermore shall this day of July pass unnoticed 
or uncelebrated. Future generations shall make 
noise enough to offset the sober quietness of its 
birth hour. 



The Strong Box 



222 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


THE SILVER INKSTAND’S DAY 

It rests solid and shiny on the President’s table. 
It cannot think, it cannot feel, it is mere dumb, 
lifeless metal fashioned by human hands into 
something beautiful, yet the work it does to-day 
will envelop it with a silent eloquence that shall 
speak through centuries. 

On this August 2, 1776, it is the most cheerful- 
looking object in Independence Hall. From its 
sheeny surface twinkling rays dart out as if the 
silver inkstand would have something bright to 
lighten the solemn forebodings of this momen¬ 
tous hour. 

Very fine, but sober, looks President Hancock 
in his black-velvet clothes and ruffles as he rises 
to receive a long parchment which is brought in 
and laid upon his table. Solemn also look the 
assembled men who gaze upon it, but the ink- 
stand shoots no sombre ray. Its cheerful glints 
seem to welcome that awesome document lying 
beside it, 


THE SILVER INKSTAND'S DAY 


223 


The President remains standing to say that 
the engrossed copy of the Declaration of Inde¬ 
pendence is here, and the time has come for all 
to sign it. He adds that he will call the delegates 
by states, and then seating himself takes a quill 
from its tray and dips deep into the inkstand. 
President Hancock must feel that his small as¬ 
sistant is a generous helper, for see the quillful 
of ink he takes. It hangs in a great drop from 
the end of his pen and rolls a broad line over the 
parchment as he writes “John Hancock” in letters 
so bold that each one has been said to defy Great 
Britain on its own account. 

“ New Hampshire,” calls the President, and 
two delegates, rising, advance to the desk. There 
is some talk about the best place to begin sign¬ 
ing, and Dr. Josiah Bartlett carefully selects a 
quill and puts his name down —the first of all the 
delegates to sign after the President of Congress. 

“ Massachusetts ” is called next, and four men 
file to the desk. The other three hold back and 
nod approval as President Hancock himself takes 
a quill and putting it in the hand of a man in a 
plain red coat motions him to sign first. With a 


224 STOR/ES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 

bland smile and a strong yet nervous motion this 
man takes the quill, and in plain yet elegant 
letters writes “Sami. Adams.” “John Adams” 
follows in awkward, but legible writing. “Robert 
Treat Paine” uses much ink and “ Elbridge 
Gerry ” is dainty as a lady in his signature. 

“ Connecticut,” calls the President, and a quill 
is put first into a hand that shakes with palsy. 
Kindly offers are made to write for the unfortu¬ 
nate gentleman, but he almost indignantly rejects 
them. With slow, painful movement he traces 
in wavering, delicate lines the name of “ Steven 
Hopkins,” and when he finishes, the twinkling 
inkstand seems to shine approval of his spirit. 

Other states advance in groups. Finally 
Pennsylvania’s turn is here. Her delegates are 
sturdy men, but the one who interests us most is 
a large man, of venerable appearance, and now 
over seventy years of age. He writes in fine 
hand, but with many flourishes, “ Benj. Franklin.” 

“Virginia,” calls the President; and if the ink- 
stand could speak, it would say a word of welcome 
now — for what a group of men surrounds it! 
Here is the tall, graceful orator who dared to 



Signing Declaration of Independence. 










THE SILVER INKSTAND'S DAY 225 

move this Declaration of Independence. He 
writes “Richard Henry Lee” in a beautiful hand. 
That still taller man with reddish hair is author 
of this document, and “Th. Jefferson” is a careless 
scrawl for such a man to pen. The fat delegate 
who follows writes better. This gentleman with 
quill in hand keeps the others waiting while he 
turns to little Mr. Gerry of Massachusetts to say, 
“ When hanging-time comes, Mr. Gerry, I shall 
have the advantage, for you will be kicking long 
after I am dead.” Then laughing at his joke until 
his fat sides shake he writes “ Benj. Harrison.” 

President Hancock smiles broadly at the joker, 
and doubtless he remembers the day when Mr. 
Harrison seized him in his strong arms and, plac¬ 
ing him bodily on the platform, said in his humor¬ 
ous way, “We will show Mother Britain how 
much we care for her, by making a Massachusetts 
man our President, whom she has excluded from 
pardon and set a price upon his head.” 

The Maryland delegates are taking their turn. 
All have signed but one, and as that fine-faced 
man takes a pen some one says, “ There goes 
millions.” This is, perhaps, the richest man in 


226 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


the colonies, and when he writes “ Charles Car- 
roll,” anxiety for his safety is shown by another 
remark: “ Luckily there is another Charles Carroll. 
The British will not be able to tell which signed.” 
Immediately the quill is taken again, and this 
brave man adds “ of Carrollton,” thus identifying 
himself beyond all possibility of mistake, and his 
colleagues love him better for the knightly deed. 

Delaware is called. The horseman who rode 
in such hot haste to give his vote for indepen¬ 
dence signs “ Caesar Rodney ” first, and the man 
who would have made this document an impossi¬ 
bility if he could, has come to his senses, for he 
follows and modestly signs “ George Read.” 

Others who opposed this charter of liberty in 
July are not here in August to sign it. The 
people have replaced them with bolder men, and 
not a cowardly face disfigures this grand assembly. 

At last every man has signed. The little ink- 
stand has performed its part as helper to each 
one. Neat President Hancock puts on the cover 
and then proceeds to warn the delegates that all 
are marked men now. If the colonies fail, British 
vengeance will fall heavily on the signers of the 


THE SILVER INKSTAND'S DAY 


227 


Declaration of Independence, and he ends by 
cautioning all to hang together. 

“ If we don’t hang together, we shall hang sepa¬ 
rately,” is aged Franklin’s witty reply. 

They laugh, and when the gavel falls, these 
men still joke about hanging-time as only strong 
men can joke when facing fearful danger. 

But the inkstand ? On this, its own day, does 
no one cast a kindly glance on that dumb but 
cheerful helper? No, not one word is recorded 
in its praise, yet a century after the silver inkstand 
will be brought back to this same council-chamber 
and stand on this same table, an object of venera¬ 
tion, in that far-off time, to millions of people. 



The Silver Inkstand 




228 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


A RECKLESS BOY — A WILD, FALSE MAN 

A Reckless Boy 

A long time ago,- in the brave old times of 
which we write, there lived in the town of Nor¬ 
wich, Connecticut, one of the most reckless and 
mischievous boys that was ever born. 

He tormented his good mother. He tormented 
his teachers. He tormented the whole town. 
Indeed the place rang with his mad pranks long 
after he was dead. 

Many a time when sent to the grist mill he 
seized the arm of the great water-wheel, clinging 
to it while it went down deep into foaming waters. 
Again, coming up with water stringing from every 
part of him, he swung high in air while less dar¬ 
ing boys were accustomed to stand around and 
stare in utter amazement. 

This boy was cruel as well as reckless and 
roguish. 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE MAN 229 

For the pleasure of seeing playmates cut their 
bare feet, he pounded up glass and strewed it on 
the road to school. He robbed birds’ nests, and 
for the delight of hearing the mother bird cry out 
mangled the young before her eyes. 

Unless he grows better, such a boy is apt to 
come to a very bad end. This boy did not grow 
better, and he came to an end so awful that it is 
unpleasant to talk about. 

Years after, when a brigadier-general in the 
British army fighting against his native land, he 
stood in the belfry of a church not far from the 
house where he was born and watched the homes 
of old friends burn to the ground with eye as 
cold and cruel as when he watched the anguish 
of the mother bird. Sorrow of former comrades 
was nothing to this heartless man. Indeed it 
was by his order that those homes were set on 
fire. The British had sent him to burn New 
London. 

At sixteen he ran away and enlisted in the 
army, but his mother had him brought back. 

A few years later found the reckless youth 
employed in an apothecary’s shop in New Haven. 


230 


STOR/ES OF BRA VE OLD TIMES 


He had become a handsome, dashing fellow, very 
fond of all things military, so they made him 
captain of the governor’s guard. 

One day the bells in New Haven rang a 
sharp alarm. People rushed to the village green 
to hear the news. There they learned that bells 
were ringing similar alarms in all the towns, in 
all the colonies, and people were being told the 
terrible news which was soon disclosed to them. 
A battle had been fought between British regu¬ 
lars and Massachusetts farmers on another vil¬ 
lage green not far from Boston, the battle of 
Lexington. 

Hot were the words of indignation when people 
realized that a king in whom they felt little 
interest had dared to take the blood of fellow- 
colonists for no fault but stanch assertion of their 
rights as free men. 

They all realized that a terrible war for 
freedom was upon them. Many were glad and 
confident of success, but others bent their heads 
most solemnly. “ What will be the end ? ” they 
asked. 

That reckless fellow who was captain of the 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE MAN 231 

guards mounted an old seat and began a speech. 
He spoke well, urging men to go to Cambridge, 
and with what some called impudent conceit 
offered to lead all who would volunteer. 

Many of the sober-minded citizens did not 
linger to hear this speech. They had followed 
the minister into the church near by. In this 
awful time they wanted help from God Himself. 
However, about sixty young men agreed to go, 
but the selectmen did not trust the reckless 
apothecary clerk. They flatly refused powder 
and arms. 

The captain of the guard, daring as when he 
clung to the swift-moving water-wheel, marched 
his sixty men to the powder-house and sent word 
to the selectmen that he would break the lock if 
they did not give him powder. 

They gave it, and a company headed by this 
adventurous fellow marched to the scene of battle. 

A Gallant Soldier 

In Cambridge our reckless captain heard of a 
plan to capture Ticonderoga. He asked the 
Massachusetts Committee of Safety to com- 


232 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


mission him colonel with authority to command 
the expedition. Massachusetts was glad of any 
help. She had a war on hand, and at that time 
was not sure that the other colonies would help, 
so this bold fellow got his commission. 

You can read in another place how the Green 
Mountain Boys received Benedict Arnold in the 
woods, and our reckless Norwich boy and still 
more reckless captain was no other than Benedict 
Arnold. 

In Ethan Allen, Arnold met his match in 
boldness. The mountain chief allowed him to 
go only as a volunteer. 

Every human being has some good in him. 
The boy who dashed through seething waters 
with the water-wheel was very brave. It is a 
great pleasure to set aside the bad, and for a 
moment tell of his bravery. 

Among wonderful deeds of the Revolution 
none was greater than the brave march of our 
troops through the wildernesses of New Hamp¬ 
shire and Maine to Canada. The soldiers 
suffered cold, hunger, intense fatigue, and every 
other hardship known to human beings. 


A RECKLESS BOV—A WILD , FALSE MAN 233 

Benedict Arnold led this army. He suffered 
all the hardships of his men. For a gallant 
charge at Quebec he was made brigadier- 
general. 

At the first battle of Saratoga he dashed about, 
upsetting Burgoyne’s plans here, bothering him 
there, and would have swept all before him if 
reenforcements had not come to aid the British. 
As it was, neither side could claim victory. All 
credit was due Arnold’s division for keeping the 
enemy at bay. 

General Gates, the commander, was not much 
of a soldier, and he was not much of a man. He 
was an unprincipled politician. 

Such men in places of great power are danger¬ 
ous to any cause, and have overthrown every 
republic of which history tells. 

General Gates said not a word in praise of 
Arnold when he sent his report to Congress. 

It was unjust. Hot words followed, and Gen¬ 
eral Gates crowned his first injustice by more. 
He gave Arnold’s command to General Lincoln. 

You know that Arnold became a traitor. Gen¬ 
eral Gates helped to make him a traitor. Indeed, 


234 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


the latter was a traitor himself—a traitor to truth 
and justice. 

The second battle of Saratoga came on, and the 
most brilliant general in the army was sitting in 
his quarters with nothing to do. He had no 
authority even to take part as a common soldier, 
— all this by order of General Gates. 

Arnold heard the noise of battle, and could not 
stay away. Calling for his horse, he dashed into 
the thick of the fight with all his old reckless 
bravery. Contrary to Gates’s orders, his voice 
rang out in command. 

The men knew the voice and knew it was one 
which would lead to victory. They obeyed it 
without consulting General Gates. 

Charge after charge he led. The men followed. 
With yells of triumph they saw Burgoyne’s 
splendid troops give way. On they swept after 
their reckless leader until the day was won. 

The man who had been forced out of the ranks 
had turned the tide of battle. To the brilliant 
leadership and daring courage of Benedict 
Arnold we owe the most important victory of 
the Revolution. If Arnold had not disobeyed, 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE MAN 235 

there might have been another story to tell about 
the second battle of Saratoga. 

General Gates did very wrong to deprive the 
country of service so competent. 

All who fought with Arnold gave him credit 
for the victory, but Gates and Congress were still 
unjust. 

The former took all credit. It was big credit 
to steal, for the capture of Burgoyne’s entire army 
followed. 

As the last charge was finished, Arnold’s horse 
was shot under him and his leg was shattered. 

Afterwards, when he had turned traitor, he 
asked an old officer what the Americans would 
do with him if they caught him. 

“ They would cut off the leg you hurt fighting 
for freedom, bury it with the honors of war, and 
hang the rest of you,” was the blunt reply. 

Arnold felt bitter about the injustice he had 
suffered. He wanted to resign, but Washington 
saw that he had the making of a good officer in 
him. The commander-in-chief persuaded him to 
remain in the army and take command of Phila¬ 
delphia. 


236 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


The Traitor 

We must now turn from the handsome, gallant 
soldier to the vain and selfish man. 

General Arnold lived a gay life in Philadelphia. 
He was a widower about forty and so entertain¬ 
ing that the ladies thought him delightful. It 
was not long before he married pretty Peggy 
Shippen, a gay beauty of eighteen. 

This young lady is said to have been an ardent 
Tory, but just how much Benedict Arnold’s wife 
had to do with his treason has never been settled 
and never will be. Washington thought her en¬ 
tirely ignorant of her husband’s plans, and both 
her father and husband publicly stated that she 
knew nothing of them. The people of Philadel¬ 
phia, however, did not believe in her innocence, 
and after her husband’s treason she was treated 
so coldly in her native city that she was glad to 
join the traitor in England. 

Both Arnold and his wife spent more than they 
could afford, and were soon deeply in debt. To 
get money to support this extravagance the gen¬ 
eral used his position as commander of the city. 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE MAN 237 

He made the merchants pay roundly for any 
favors, and went on and on in this oppressive way 
until the honest tradespeople complained to Con¬ 
gress and openly charged that the military com¬ 
mander of the city got money by dishonest 
methods from the government. 

A committee was appointed to look into the 
matter. Arnold was found guilty of some of the 
bad things and sent to Washington to be reproved. 
His commander-in-chief could not believe that 
the hero of Quebec and Saratoga meant to do 
wrong. The reproof was very gently adminis¬ 
tered, but the affair made Arnold furious. 

He began to hate America and plan revenge. 

When the British instead of the American 
army held Philadelphia, Peggy Shippen had often 
danced with a delightful young English officer 
named Major Andre. This pleasant gentleman 
was transferred to New York after his army had 
been driven out of Philadelphia, but he still kept 
up acquaintance with General Arnold’s beautiful 
wife, writing frequently to both her and her “ rebel 
husband,” as he called the general. 

One day a letter came to General Clinton in 


238 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

New York at which the British officer glanced 
more than once. 

It bore the mark of Philadelphia and said the 
writer was a man of importance in the American 
army, but was not satisfied with Congress, and if 
he could be protected and receive sufficient reward, 
he would join the British. This extraordinary 
letter was signed Mr. Gustavus. 

General Clinton was sick of fighting so far 
away from England, and was very willing to 
receive a person of importance to the rebel cause 
if that person could help him crush that cause. 

He gave the letter to his adjutant Major John 
Andre, whose eyes twinkled as he read, for he 
had little trouble in guessing that it was the hus¬ 
band of his friend Peggy Shippen who wrote like 
that. 

“ Answer the letter as a trader,” was General 
Clinton’s command; and Andre did it, signing 
John Anderson as a hint to his friend who was 
writing. 

“ A trader! ” Arnold was not slow to take the 
hint. He saw that he must have something 
valuable to sell if he would make treason profit- 


A RECKLESS BOV—A WILD , FALSE MAN 239 

able. He immediately asked Washington for the 
command of West Point. 

The chief expressed surprise that so active a 
man should wish a post so quiet, but was satisfied 
when Arnold complained that the leg which was 
wounded at Saratoga troubled him considerably, 
and the request was granted. 

At the time no stronger fortress could be found 
in the colonies, and in addition to its strength 
most of Washington’s stores were there. Right 
well had the keen traitor counted its value. 

Arnold moved to a fine old mansion on the 
banks of the Hudson, directly across the river 
from the fort. General Clinton now received 
letters from up the river instead of Philadelphia. 
Mr. Gustavus wrote that he too was a trader and 
spoke pointedly of tobacco and dry-goods for 
sale. 

General Clinton knew perfectly what the to¬ 
bacco and dry-goods meant. It meant cannon, a 
fortress, an army, a nation. Mr. John Anderson 
was ready to meet Mr. Gustavus, and bargain. 


240 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


A Midnight Meeting 

In a few days a ship sailed out of New York 
harbor. It took Colonel Dalrymple to England. 
He had a secret to whisper to the king, and the 
message was: — 

“West Point will soon be betrayed into our 
hands, and before Washington knows anything 
about it the rebellion in America will be 
crushed.” 

That same day a boat took Major Andre up 
the river. He had a gay parting feast with his 
fellow-officers the night before. They drank to 
the triumph of British arms, and were sure that 
they should return to England hailed throughout 
the length and breadth of the land as conquerors 
of America. 

A Mr. Smith who lived just below West Point 
pretended to be a great patriot, but many looked 
at Mr. Smith out of the corners of their eyes and 
wondered how a patriot could do some things he 
did. It is pretty certain now that Mr. Smith 
was slyly helping our enemies all the time. 
This was the man chosen by the traitor for an 


A RECKLESS BOY— A WILD , FALSE MAN 241 

accomplice. It was arranged that the family of 
this same Smith should go away for the day and 
Arnold given a chance to use his house. 

It was midnight when the Vulture came from 
New York with a tall figure in a long cloak on 
board. 

Mr. Smith set off in a small boat to meet the 
Vulture , and on the hill above the steep banks of 
the river in the deep gloom of some dark pines a 
man was walking back and forth, now and then 
straining his eyes over the moonlit Hudson. It 
was General Arnold, the trusted commander of 
West Point. 

He saw the tall figure in the long coat enter 
the rowboat with Mr. Smith. He heard the 
splash, splash, of the oars bringing it swiftly to 
land, but waited until Mr. Smith with slow 
dignity and the tall figure with swift agility had 
come ashore before he went to meet them. 

Mr. Smith himself has left word that the cool, 
daring Arnold was frightened and nervous. 

Stately Mr. Smith advanced with the man he 
had brought ashore and introduced him as Mr. 
Anderson. Laughingly Andre shook hands with 


242 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


the man who was going to sell him America, 
then Arnold turned with nervous abruptness and 
ordered : — 

“Wait down here with the boatman, Mr. 
Smith.” 

There was fury on Josiah Hett Smith’s proud 
face as he turned with dignified steps to obey. 

All was well so far. The ship which brought 
the British spy was near at hand. Arnold was 
prompt. Not a rebel was in sight. Major Andre 
was gay with surety of complete success. 

General Arnold invited Andre up into the 
grove of dark pines, and into this gloomy place 
the two went to hatch their foul plot. Midnight 
gloom and loneliness were all very suitable for a 
scheme so nefarious. 

A Surprise 

Mr. Smith had not been invited into the pines. 
Perhaps he did not like it and perhaps he was 
content to play guard. Hour after hour he 
waited, looking over the black waters and into 
the gloomy pines. Finally the stars began to 
dim. A soft flush began to brighten the east- 


A RECKLESS BOV—A WILD , FALSE MAN 243 

ern sky — in short, daylight’s first hint had come, 
and nothing yet to be heard from the grove. 
Mr. Smith waited a little longer, and then he 
went to the edge of the pines and softly called 
to Andre that it was time for him to be going. 

Through the long hours those two birds of 
ill-omen had been haggling about price. Arnold 
wanted more than the British offered, and the 
plotters forgot time. 

Major Andre saw that Mr. Smith’s advice 
was good. In a few hurried words he declared 
that the business was about concluded, and he 
would return to his ship. 

Now came a great surprise. Yankee sym¬ 
pathizers were not so far off as the plotters sup¬ 
posed. Their boatmen flatly refused to row 
Major Andre to the Vulture . They said their 
arms ached and the British sailors made fun of 
them, besides, Colonel Livingston was going to 
fire on the Vulture . 

No threats from Arnold, no coaxing from 
Andre could make them take the oars, and there 
was little time for parley. 

Horses for General Arnold, Mr. Smith, and 


244 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

Mr. Smith’s black servant had been tied at the 
edge of the grove since midnight. Andre 
mounted the servant’s horse and went with the 
other gentlemen to Smith’s house. 

At Smith’s House 

It was just daylight when the conspirators 
entered Smith’s house, and it was over the break¬ 
fast table there that they completed their traitor¬ 
ous plot. 

A link was to be taken out of the great chain 
put across the Hudson to keep back British 
war-ships. A plan of West Point was given. 
The password was whispered. It was agreed 
that British ships should go up next day and 
take possession. Arnold was to receive thirty 
thousand dollars and be made a brigadier in the 
British army. 

At ten o’clock Arnold left Smith’s house, and 
bidding Andre farewell, gave him a pass through 
the American lines and blandly put him in 
charge of Mr. Smith. 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE MAN 245 


A Perilous Horseback Ride 

When Arnold left Major Andre in Smith’s 
house, he left him in very great peril. The 
house was surrounded by American camps. 

All day the young officer stayed in an upper 
chamber. As the hours of that terrible day 
went by it is said Andre grew old in appearance. 

When evening came, he prepared to go to 
New York, and was much surprised to learn 
that Mr. Smith had not engaged boatmen to 
row him to the Vulture. He was still more 
surprised to learn that Mr. Smith did not intend 
to go to the Vulture with him at all. 

Why that gentleman refused is still a mystery, 
for the ship was the safest way to go. 

Mr. Smith said he would keep his word with 
General Arnold and see Major Andre out of 
the American lines. By his advice they set 
off on horseback, attended by a black servant 
of Mr. Smith’s. 

Andre had done something which General 
Clinton warned him not to do. He took off 
his uniform and put on plain clothes. 


246 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

That night must have been a terrible one 
for the British spy and a fearful one for his 
companion. 

American sentinels began to challenge them 
before they had gone two miles. 

General Arnold’s pass seemed all-sufficient. 
Mr. Smith even stopped in one camp and chatted 
with the officers. He gave Colonel Livingston 
to understand that he was on special business 
for Arnold. They invited him and his friend 
to supper, but Andre had ridden gloomily on 
and Mr. Smith was obliged to decline. 

Finally they came across a little band of 
Americans in search of something. Andre’s 
heart stood still. He thought they were after 
him. 

The captain was very curious to know what 
errand could take Mr. Smith out so late at night, 
but General Arnold’s pass again smoothed mat¬ 
ters, and Smith took great pains to explain that 
General Arnold himself had sent him. 

Suspicion removed, the American captain gave 
them kindly warning. He told them that it was 
not safe to go farther at night, and suggested that 


A RECKLESS BOV—A WILD , FALSE MAN 247 

they ride back to a lonely farm-house and stay 
until morning. 

A strip of neutral ground lay between the 
British and American lines which was infested by 
a sort of military highwaymen called skinners 
and cowboys. In times of peace these men 
would not have stopped people to take their 
valuables, but military custom allowed any one 
who captured a prisoner on neutral ground to 
keep money, watches, or other valuables found on 
him. 

Of course this was an inducement to reckless 
men to go to search for prisoners. Americans 
who hunted British prisoners were called “ skin¬ 
ners.” Cowboys kept an eye open for Americans 
with valuables, and they sympathized with the 
British. 

On account of these skinners and cowboys 
Andre and Mr. Smith concluded that the advice 
received was good. They went back and spent 
the night at the farm-house. 

The British spy passed a restless night and 
rose with the sun, anxious to go on his way. 

The two rode along until both began to feel 


248 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

hungry. A Dutch woman who had been robbed 
by cowboys the night before was feeding her 
children hasty-pudding and milk. She offered 
some of this humble fare to the travellers, and 
refused to take pay. 

Major Andre ate with light heart, for he was 
out of the American lines at last. 

As they rode on, Mr. Smith thought the young 
British officer a new man. Andre jested, talked 
about the beautiful scenery, and was his gay, 
light hearted self once more. 

At a crossing of the roads Mr. Smith left him, 
and it was a laughing good-by which Andre 
waved to his escort as he set out for Tarry town 
alone. 

Now he was on the fatal neutral ground, and 
this was the last gay hour he would ever spend 
on earth. 

Soon he came to two roads. “Which should 
he take ? Danger from skinners and cowboys 
lay in each. Cowboys generally roamed about 
Tarry town. He would go that way.” 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE MAN 249 


The Arrest 

About the time Andre was swallowing the 
Dutch woman’s pudding and milk three young 
skinners set out for neutral ground to try their 
luck. 

The idle fellows had no thought of making 
fame for themselves. They sat down under a 
tree to play a game of cards. One of them spied 
Andre. 

“ That’s a gentlemanly-looking fellow. Stop 
him and see what he is up to,” said one. 

All three seized their guns and jumped into 
the middle of the road. One of them, John 
Paulding, put his gun to Andre’s breast. 

“ Stop! Who are you and where are you 
going ? ” he demanded. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Andre, “ I hope you are of 
our party.” 

“ Which party is that ? ” asked Paulding. 

“ The Lower party,” replied Andre, deceived 
by the half-Hessian uniform of one of the young 


men. 


250 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


“ We are,” replied Paulding, probably to deceive 
Andre. 

“ I am a British officer, out of the lines on 
particular business. I hope you will not detain 
me a minute; ” then with a knowing look he took 
out his watch. 

Now taking out the watch was a signal in the 
British army. It meant that Andre was a British 
officer. Paulding knew the signal. 

“ Dismount,” he said. 

“ My God ! I must do anything to get along! ” 
cried Andre; and then he pretended he had been 
joking, and pulled out General Arnold’s pass. 

“ If you had shown this at first, I would have 
let you go on, but you have confessed that you are 
a British officer, and now I must search you,” 
replied level-headed John Paulding. 

The three skinners made him go into the 
bushes and take off his clothes. 

Nothing was found, and to Andre’s great joy 
they were about to let him go on when Paul¬ 
ding thought of his boots. Ah! that swift little 
afterthought — how it changed some well-laid 
plans! 


A RECKLESS BOV—A WILD , FALSE MAN 251 

Andre turned very pale, for the telltale papers 
promptly rustled out of his stockings. 

“ Great heavens, boys, he is a spy! ” exclaimed 
Paulding. And the awful discovery startled 
even those reckless young fellows. 

“ What will you give us if we let you go ? ” 
asked one. 

Probably the young man asked the question 
idly. He was only a careless fellow and wanted 
to see what Andre would say. 

Poor Andre offered them all he had — ten thou¬ 
sand dollars — for liberty. 

“ I would not let you go for fifty thousand 
dollars,” was John Paulding’s reply, and he will 
always be remembered for it. 

The three young men looked over the papers 
and stared at their remarkable prisoner in a 
dazed way. Finally they began to question 
him. 

“ Do not ask me questions,” gently urged the 
prisoner. “ Lead me to the nearest American 
camp.” 


252 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Before Colonel Jameson 

The nearest American camp was at North 
Castle, thirteen miles away It was commanded 
by Colonel Jameson. 

This officer seemed stupid. He did not under¬ 
stand the traitorous business as well as young 
John Paulding. 

Colonel Jameson started to send not only the 
prisoner back to Arnold, but also the traitor’s 
own treasonable papers. 

Major Talmadge, next in command, interfered. 
“Send those papers to Washington and stop the 
prisoner at the next camp,” he advised. “ Arnold 
is a traitor. Say nothing to him.” 

Arnold was Colonel Jameson’s commanding 
officer. The colonel would not believe he was 
a traitor, so he took only part of Major Tal- 
madge’s good advice. He sent a messenger to 
stop the prisoner, and speeded Lieutenant Hamil¬ 
ton to Washington with the papers, but stub¬ 
bornly insisted on sending word to Arnold. 

This blunder helped the traitor to escape. He 
did not wait to breakfast with Washington that 
morning. 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE MAH 253 


A Breakfast Scene 

On arriving home from Smith’s house, General 
Arnold learned that distinguished guests were 
expected next day. No less personages than 
Washington and Lafayette were to be of the 
party. “ Could anything be worse ? ” General 
Arnold was much annoyed. That was the day 
he expected the British. 

About sixteen miles from Arnold’s headquar¬ 
ters Washington decided to look over some 
fortifications. 

“ Will not Mrs. Arnold wait breakfast for us ? ” 
remonstrated polite Lafayette. 

“You young men are all in love with Mrs. 
Arnold,” laughed Washington, “but these re¬ 
doubts must be inspected.” 

Lafayette went with the chief, and only aids 
rode to General Arnold’s with excuses for their 
commander. 

Light banter and gay chatting was flitting 
back and forth from the pretty hostess to her 
young soldier guests, when a post-rider dashed 
furiously up the driveway. General Arnold him- 


254 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

self hastened to take the letter which was from 
Colonel Jameson and told of the capture of a cer¬ 
tain John Anderson, and said that papers found 
on the spy had been sent to Washington. 

Arnold turned very pale, but he went calmly 
to the breakfast room to excuse himself to his 
guests. 

Hurrying to his wife’s room, he seized a 
pistol, ordered his horse, and sent a servant for 
Mrs. Arnold. She left their guests and came 
immediately. 

He put an arm partly about her, and partly 
cringed back as he said: — 

“ I am a ruined man. We must part now, 
and part forever.” 

The poor woman slipped from his light hold 
and fell to the floor in a swoon. 

“ Attend to your mistress,” directed the traitor 
to a maid he had hastily summoned. For a 
moment he bent over his sleeping babe and 
lightly kissed it, then once more he went quickly 
to the breakfast room. 

“ Gentlemen, I must cross the river to the fort 
immediately, and make ready to receive General 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE NAN 255 

Washington. Unfortunately Mrs. Arnold has 
been taken suddenly ill. We both beg to excuse 
ourselves, and hope you will entertain yourselves 
pleasantly. Good morning.” 

A moment after he had swung himself into the 
saddle and was dashing madly down a narrow 
road, still called “Traitor’s Path,” to the river. 

Escape to the Vulture 

A six-oared barge was at the landing. The 
traitor jumped into it. 

“ Row me to Ellis Point,” he ordered, and 
promised the bargemen large rewards if they 
would hurry. 

He reached the Vulture in safety and told all 
to Captain Sunderland, who eyed him contemptu¬ 
ously. The men who had used all their strength 
to get him quickly to the British ship were loyal 
Americans. They did not suspect their general 
of treason. Great, then, was their surprise when, 
after his talk with the British captain, Arnold 
came on board and said: — 

“ My lads, I have left the rebel army and joined 
the standard of his Britannic Majesty. If you 


256 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

stay with me, I will make you all corporals and 
sergeants, and for you, Larvey, I will do more.” 

Some pretty cool heads were on those barge¬ 
men. They were in the clutches of a British 
war-ship, but they did not stop a moment to 
think about that. 

“No, sir,” indignantly replied Larvey, “one 
coat is enough for me to wear at a time. I’ll be 
hanged if I’ll fight on both sides.” 

The words must have scorched the traitorous 
general. He was evidently angry at the reproof, 
for he turned to the British jackies: — 

“Take them prisoners, then,” was his sullen 
command; and the English sailors obeyed, but 
did it with sympathy on their faces and scorn in 
their hearts for the man who had betrayed his 
country. 

It was a very mean act, and the men all pro¬ 
tested boldly, claiming that they had come under 
a flag of truce. 

Even Captain Sunderland showed what he 
thought of Arnold’s act, for he put the men 
ashore on their promise to report to New York, 
and General Clinton further expressed contempt 


A RECKLESS BOV—A WILD , FALSE MAN 257 

for the traitor by setting them free as soon as 
they reported at his headquarters. 

Arnold reached Clinton’s headquarters in safety, 
but what a tale he had to tell! Andre, much 
beloved by the British general, was a prisoner, and 
Washington knew all their plans. Trouble, not 
triumph, was what Benedict Arnold brought to the 
British. 

Washington Hears 

Just before noon a barge left the fort at West 
Point, and on it was a gay as well as a distin¬ 
guished company of officers. It was General 
Washington himself with his staff and ac¬ 
companied by the Marquis Lafayette. They 
were crossing the river to dine at General 
Arnold’s fine home, and there was bright talk 
and flow of wit to while away the few moments 
it took to go over the river. 

Before they landed they saw a horseman 
dashing down the path to the river bank, and 
knew that a courier was coming with a mes¬ 
sage for the chief; but that was a little matter, 
for were not couriers always following General 
Washington ? 


258 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

This courier acted rather strangely. He 
almost pulled the general away from the rest; 
and they strode on ahead, talking earnestly after 
a small package was placed in the hands of 
Washington. 

The messenger, Lieutenant Hamilton, followed 
his commander into the house, and there the 
papers were read which branded Benedict Arnold 
a traitor. The young aids saw the chief move 
about restlessly for a few moments, then he put 
the papers into the hands of Lafayette, and as he 
told the news tears glistened in his eyes. 

“ Whom can we trust?” he sadly inquired. 

With this sad remark on his lips he turned to 
do duty as host in the home of his traitor officer. 

“ Since Mrs. Arnold is not well we will sit 
down without ceremony,” was his invitation to 
dinner. No gay talk brightened that sombre 
board. 

After dinner Washington went up to see Mrs. 
Arnold. He found her almost insane. 

Gently he told her that he had tried as was his 
duty to capture her husband, but was glad of the 
comfort it would give her to know that he had 


A RECKLESS BOY — A WILD , FALSE MAN 259 

not succeeded. He assured her that she should 
be sent to her father in Philadelphia and in every 
way treated kindly. 

At times the poor woman wept piteously. 
Again she screamed out that Washington had 
come to murder her babe. 

Later she went to Philadelphia. People were 
not all kind to her there. Arnold had taken 
pains to write that his wife knew nothing of 
his plans, but many would not believe it. Phila¬ 
delphia would never again be home to Peggy 
Shippen. Not even her father’s influence could 
shield her from the scorn which clung to every¬ 
thing connected with Arnold. Finally she joined 
her husband in England. 

A Prisoner 

The court appointed to try Major Andre 
found him guilty. General Clinton did all he 
could to save this well-loved officer and friend, 
England put forth every effort, Washington, in 
his heart, wanted to be merciful, and the Ameri¬ 
can people in general felt repugnance at the 
thought of putting the young man to death; but 


26 o 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


the memory of Nathan Hale’s cruel death was 
still fresh in the mind of the public, and then there 
is but one death for a spy, and that is a shameful 
one. Washington signed Andre’s death-warrant 
with tears in his eyes. 

Before doing it he offered to give him up if 
they would deliver Arnold to die in his stead, but 
General Clinton said honor forbade that. 

Andre confessed all to Washington, but he did 
not give up hope until after a talk with Major 
Talmadge. The major had been a classmate of 
Hale’s in college, and when he saw tke English 
officer so trustful that he would be saved, he 
could not resist giving him a hint that his fate 
might be similar to the American spy’s. 

“ Surely my case is not the same as Hale’s,” 
urged Andre. 

“ The American people can see no difference,” 
was the major’s reply. 

Death of Andre 

One morning his death-warrant was read to 
Major Andre. In the afternoon he was to be 
hanged as a spy. His servant was so affected 


A RECKLESS BOY—A WILD , FALSE MAM 261 

that he burst into tears. Gently Andre is said 
to have reproved him, asking him to leave the 
room if he could not control himself. 

The prisoner ate his breakfast calmly. For an 
hour he busied himself making a pen-and-ink 
drawing of himself. It is said to be very good. 
It is now in Yale University. 

When it was nearing time to die, he dressed 
himself with care and quietly said to the 
guard: — 

“ Tell the officers I am ready.” 

There was a great crowd waiting. Long lines 
of soldiers were drawn up. Officers were in full 
uniform. All that could be done to show respect 
at such an awful time was done. There was no 
repetition of the coarse cruelty which still shocks 
the world at Nathan Hale’s execution. 

The prisoner walked between two officers in 
a soldierly manner. When he saw the gallows, 
he was startled for a moment. He had hoped for 
a soldier’s death. 

He was asked if he had anything to say. 

“ Bear witness that I die like a soldier,” replied 
Andre. 


262 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Benedict Arnold lived to be old. He was 
shunned and hated by two continents. 

John Andre died at thirty, loved by the same 
two continents. 

America shed tears for him as well as England. 
He had risked his life to end a great war, and he 
thought his country was in the right. 

England received Andre’s body as one of her 
great heroes, and laid it to rest where her heroes 
lie in Westminster Abbey. 

A Last Glimpse 

Let us take a last glimpse of this traitor. He 
is an old man now, sick and poor. 

No British officers would associate with him. 
He is dying in obscurity. 

“ Bring me my old Continental uniform,” he 
begged. The dying man was sitting in a chair. 
The nurse humored him, and brought the coat. 
It was flung over his shoulders. He toyed with 
it one minute as a child plays with what it 
loves. The next he cried out against his own 
infamy. Thus he died. 



Andre’s Monument at Tarrytown 


























FIRST WORD FOR FREEDOM 


263 


FIRST WORD FOR FREEDOM 

The first word for American independence 
was spoken in the sunny South. It was on a 
sweet October day in Charleston, South Carolina, 
and it was a century and a half ago. 

For a short time everybody was feeling kindly 
toward the old land. All through the thirteen 
colonies bells were ringing, bonfires were blazing 
on the hilltops, and legislatures were voting 
statues to the king and his ministers. 

The hated Stamp Act had been repealed. 

South Carolina was celebrating with the rest. 
Loyalty to the king was the fashion of the hour. 

There were very wealthy people and many 
beautiful homes in Charleston at this time. In 
one of these fine homes lived a large, noble-look¬ 
ing man about forty-two years of age. This 
gentleman knew all about England, for twenty 
years before this time he had been sent there to 
be educated. 


264 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

On that October day, however, he was not 
shouting for the king with the rest of his neigh¬ 
bors. Under a wide-spreading oak just north 
of his house he was doing something quite 
opposite. 

If the leaves of that Charleston oak had been 
whispering leaves, it could have told more history 
than we can get from books. It was called Lib¬ 
erty Tree, as many other oaks which sheltered 
liberty’s sons were called. Hot words were often 
wafted to its branches; for it, more than the 
northern trees, was the meeting-place of patriots. 
Here they objected to unjust taxation and here 
they talked over their political rights. 

Colonel Gadsden was their leader. On the 
day of which we write, the oak tree was to re¬ 
ceive guests under its broad branches. In all 
the colonies, among all the patriots, there was 
no other gathering like this. 

It was a small one, a very small gathering, for 
the most of the people in Charleston were busy 
celebrating the repeal of the Stamp Act and 
shouting for King George. 

There were just twenty-five men under Liberty 


FIRST WORD FOR FREEDOM 265 

Tree. They were resolute-looking men, and as 
they waited for Colonel Gadsden, they talked 
earnestly of the future. 

Soon the man for whom the little company 
waited strolled out of his beautiful grounds. He 
came down the street with the stride of a trained 
soldier, and such he was. Colonel Gadsden com¬ 
manded Fort Johnson in the harbor. 

As they watched him the men eyed their 
leader proudly, and spoke of him as the Sam 
Adams of South Carolina. In truth, the colonel 
did defy the British about as vigorously in South 
Carolina as Mr. Adams defied them in Massachu¬ 
setts. 

Colonel Gadsden was greeted warmly. Re¬ 
moving his cocked hat, he began to speak. He 
told the men facing him not to be deceived by 
apparent show of justice, and then under the wide- 
spreading oak he uttered what was probably the 
first word for absolute independence spoken in 
this country. 

He warned the men gathered there that war 
for freedom was bound to come. A beautiful 
scene followed. 


266 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Like knights of old those twenty-five men 
linked hands about the sturdy oak, and solemnly 

i 

swore to fight for liberty when the hour to take 
up arms should come. 

The year 1766 saw this hand-clasped circle and 
heard the solemn pledge. Ten years later Gen¬ 
eral Gadsden was in the field fighting with all his 
might for freedom, and the men with whom he 
clasped hands were struggling for it by his side. 

There is great charm in tales of King Arthur 
and his followers about the Round Table, pledg¬ 
ing themselves to deeds of right and valor, but 
is there more charm than in this scene ? 

Get into your mind a picture of our Southern 
knights about that South Carolina oak, with 
linked hands pledging themselves to risk life 
and all else that they might tear freedom from 
the few and give it to the many in the form of 
a glorious republic. 


RECITING IN JAIL 


267 


RECITING IN JAIL 

People in Philadelphia often stared at a queer 
sight in 1758. 

Groups of gay young men could be seen going 
regularly to a grim old jail to recite to one of 
the prisoners. 

This joking, jolly crowd trooped past iron bars 
and through files of guards to a room with few 
seats in it. 

A guard marched in with a prisoner. He 
was a scholarly-looking man in a hooded uni¬ 
versity gown. This fine-looking prisoner began 
to lecture on mental philosophy, and the students 
were soon busy taking notes. The teacher was 
brilliant, and held the close attention of his class. 

When the lecture ended, the students stood 
with extreme respect and waited while guards 
marched their instructor out of the room. 

Jail is a strange place to send young men 


268 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


for instruction, and perhaps you are wondering 
who these young men could have been. 

They were students of what was the College 
of Philadelphia in 1758, but which is the great 
University of Pennsylvania in our time. 

“ Why did they recite to a criminal ? ” 

This prisoner in Walnut Street jail was no 
criminal. Indeed he was no common man. He 
was a very good man, perhaps the most learned 
man in Philadelphia. It was the Rev. William 
Smith, first provost of Pennsylvania’s great in¬ 
stitution of learning. 

In old times very good people were put in 
jail for silly and unjust reasons, and no one in 
Philadelphia thought the worse of Mr. Smith 
for being in jail. Many people in the city called 
him a brave man for being there. 

It was merely some political dispute with the 
Quakers which put Mr. Smith behind prison 
bars. 

He was arrested at a famous old coffee-house 
and taken before city officials who told him that 
he might go free if he would apologize for say¬ 
ing some things of which he was accused. 


RECITING IN JAIL 


269 


He replied that he would rather go to jail 
than apologize for offences which he never com¬ 
mitted, so the Quakers who were in power in 
the city then sent him to jail. 

The trustees of the college voted that his 
classes should go to Walnut Street jail to recite 
to him, and the sturdy head of the institu¬ 
tion stayed there and heard them for several 
months. 

The great University of Pennsylvania is proud 
of its first provost, and is not at all ashamed 
to tell the story of his hearing classes in jail. 



Tower of Main Building, University of Pennsylvania 






















270 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


A GREEN ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 

♦ 

The Isle and the Town 

People who live in New York City to-day can 
hardly stretch imagination far enough to con¬ 
ceive a fleet of war-ships slipping past forts in 
the harbor and pointing their guns on the city. 

Still less can they imagine officers of those 
ships going to the mayor and demanding that he 
surrender this great metropolis to England or 
some other nation. 

In 1664 British war-ships did exactly what it 
seems so strange to imagine now, but New York 
City was then but a green isle and a Dutch town. 

There were no miles of splendid streets. 
What is now brick and stone was then the 
thickly wooded and picturesque island of Man¬ 
hattan, thirteen miles long by an average of one 
and a half miles broad. 



Village of Manhatoes Indians 

























































A GREEN ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 271 

The upper half of the island was wild and 
woody, with tall trees overhanging the rocks. 
The lower part was made up of fertile meadows 
and softly sloping hills. All over the island were 
numerous little fresh-water lakes, while pebbly 
brooks and gleaming ponds gloriously shaded by 
tall old forest trees played among the rocks or 
nestled under hillsides. 

Hundreds of deer bounded over the brooks. 
Wildcats, wolves, and even bears growled in the 
thick jungles. 

The island was also full of Indians. No 
fiercer tribe roamed the American forests than 
the Manhatoes, and Gansevort Street market at 
the foot of Gansevort Street, one of the most 
thickly crowded parts of New York, is on the 
exact spot where one of their Indian villages 
stood in 1664. 

Where people of the busy city now buy vege¬ 
tables in the great market, Indians raised beans 
and pumpkins to sell to the white man. 

The hills have all been lowered. The mossy 
nooks have all been turned into brick-built streets. 
The ponds and brooks have been filled up or 


272 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

built over, and it is hard to go back from the 
New York City of to-day to that green isle of 
long ago. 

At the extreme southern point of the island 
were clustered a few hundred houses which no 
Indian tribe had built. They were queer little 
structures, very small and low compared with the 
great buildings which have taken their places. 

These were Dutch houses. This was a settle¬ 
ment of white men. It was the New Amsterdam 
out of which one of the greatest cities in the 
world has grown. 

Hardly a word of English was spoken in New 
Amsterdam. Both boys and girls chatted in 
Dutch, and they dressed in a way that would 
make the youth of New York City stare. 

The girls were pretty pink and white things, 
with prim braids and dresses exactly like their 
mothers’. 

The boys had blouses so bulging and breeches 
so wide that they looked like a bundle of three 
bags tied together and turned upside down. 

In 1664 New Amsterdam felt quite citified. 
It had dug some ditches and paved two or three 


A GREEN ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 273 

streets with cobblestones, but it was a very small 
city both in area and in population. 

Its Situation 

So used are we to the immense, far-stretching 
city of now that it will take a long look backward 
to realize how little space that Dutch town of 
1664 did occupy. 

“ Down town,” you say, “ was the limit.” 

Yes, but you must go very far down town to 
see landmarks of that old Dutch city. 

You stop in Union Square, and if you are not 
a resident New Yorker, you will think: “This 
is far down town. New Amsterdam probably 
came up to 15th Street.” 

Union Square is a long distance above the 
old Dutch city. In days of New Amsterdam, 
Union Square was a wilderness, the rough 
outer edges of a forest, a home for bears and 
wolves. 

Over one corner of it flowed beautiful Manetta 
Waters, a brook which rose in a low hill about 
23d Street, and under the pavement of the busy 
city this clear stream flows to-day. 


274 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


Perhaps some boy or girl who reads this lives 
in Washington Square and wonders if that were 
not the upper limit of New Amsterdam. 

Washington Square was then a swamp. Spar¬ 
kling Manetta Brook, as it took its way to the sea, 
flowed through this rush-grown mire. 

Perhaps the father of another has business in 
one of the tall buildings in Beekman Street or 
Maiden Lane. 

“ This is miles down town,” they think; “ surely 
New Amsterdam must have come up from the 
foot of the island as far as this.” 

No, New Amsterdam did not come up even 
to Beekman Street. You are still outside the 
Dutch town of our sketch. Beekman Street was 
part of Farmer Beekman’s orchard, and Maiden 
Lane — can you believe it ? — busy, bustling 
Maiden Lane — was for the most part a rippling 
brook with grassy banks, a wild, pretty spot to 
which the Dutch girls from New Amsterdam 
came with great bundles of unwashed clothes 
on their heads. 

Here the maids frolicked as they washed the 
family linen in the clear stream and spread it 


A GREEN" ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 275 

on the grassy banks to dry. For this reason peo¬ 
ple in the Dutch town came to call it Maiden or 
Girl Lane, and that is how a bustling business 
street came to be so queerly christened. 

Wall Street, the financial centre of a continent, 
is not far from Maiden Lane, and it is not far 
from the narrow point which ends the island 
of Manhattan. At Wall Street you are far, far 
down town, and now you are at the gate of the 
Dutch city we are seeking. 

In 1664 your journey would have been stopped 
here, for a ditch two feet deep and a wall must be 
passed before you could enter New Amsterdam. 
The little city was a walled city, and all must 
pass through a clumsy wooden gate to get into 
it. At nine in the evening a bell was rung for 
the city gate to close, and it was opened at sunrise. 

But one forest highway led to New Amster¬ 
dam, and that was Bouwerie Lane, a most charm¬ 
ing path in the woods; but there is no mark of 
this once romantic old highway in the dirty 
Bowery Street which winds so crookedly through 
New York City, now bearing on its ill-favored 
surface such vast amounts of tawdry merchandise. 


276 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

This is a delightful, woody New York to which 
we have gone back. It would be pleasant to 
linger and join the Dutch boys who run away 
from the town to see the young Indians shoot 
at a mark, but we cannot linger for such sport. 
We are after a glimpse of New Amsterdam. 

The City — Peter Stuyvesant 

The principal thing in New Amsterdam was 
the fort. A high wall extending three hundred 
feet one way and two hundred and fifty the other 
surrounded it. Inside its broken walls were a 
respectable house for the governor, a church, a 
prison, a windmill, and a tall flagpole. 

If you live in New York, go down to Bowling 
Green, and on some buildings facing it from the 
south you will find a tablet which reads: — 

“The site of Fort Amsterdam, 

Built in 1626. 

Within the fortification 
Was built the first substantial church edifice 
On the Island of Manhattan. 

In 1787 the fort 
Was demolished 
And the government house 
Built upon the site.” 


A GREEN ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 277 

Wherever there is a Dutchman they say you 
will find a ditch. In truth, the Dutch in New 
Amsterdam did like to dig ditches better than 
they liked to cut down trees and clear land. 

There were a number of ditches in the town. 
What is now Broad Street was a wide canal 
which opened into the sea. On each side of 
this canal stretched board walks where merchants 
went to barter with Indians who paddled up in 
canoes with furs and corn for sale. White men 
came in good-sized ships, and it was one of the 
sights of New Amsterdam to watch the display 
of wares along this canal. 

Strange to say, after two and a half centuries 
this centre of exchange has never moved. On 
the very spot where the Indian traded his furs 
for blankets the great exchanges of New York 
City do enormous business now. 

In 1664 all wild animals had not left this lower 
part of New Amsterdam for the woods above 
Wall Street. A little creature with shining fur 
burrowed under a small creek in a lane which the 
Dutch called “ Beaver Path.” It is now Beaver 
Street. 


2 yS STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

There is much talk of the gold and silver 
standard to-day. In the time of New Amsterdam 
the beautiful fur of the beaver was standard of 
all money value. He whose salary was paid in 
beaver skins felt that he was lucky. 

People in New Amsterdam chatted much 
about Old Silverleg, as they called Governor Peter 
Stuyvesant. Their chatting varied from indig¬ 
nation at some greedy act to sport at the gov¬ 
ernor’s expense. 

They said he tried to be the whole country. 
He owned many of the shops and breweries. He 
had shares not only in proper trading ships, but 
in private ships as well. Besides all this the best 
farm above Wall Street was his private property. 
It was called “ The Bouwerie,” which means the 
farm. 

Indians joined the Dutch in complaints against 
Governor Stuyvesant. They said that the sachem 
at the fort was a mean fellow. Their name for 
him was “ Wooden Leg.” Both names were due 
to a wooden leg with silver bands about it. 

No one seemed to like Governor Stuyvesant 
very well, and he was not a man to govern free 


A GREEN ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 279 

men. He was an autocrat who ruled with iron 
hand. 

Some things he did were for the benefit of the 
people. He fined them well if they drank too 
much and whipped them soundly if they swore. 
Much the jolly Dutch needed punishment for 
these offences, but they did not like it. 

Again they wanted to turn the Sabbath into a 
gay holiday, but the governor would not allow 
that. Stern was his command that there be no 
brawling or drinking on the Sabbath. All must 
be quiet and orderly. 

Cushions were brought every Sabbath from the 
state-house to the church for the burgomasters. 
Whether they wished to do so or not, those 
officials must attend divine service. 

Woe to any man in New Amsterdam who 
called high officials names. A Mr. Van der 
Veen called the secretary of the court a rascal. 
Twenty dollars was the fine. Some wags were 
accustomed to declare that the governor went 
around with a ready-made gallows and a halter 
to hang those who offended him. 

If the people disliked the stern, grasping gov- 


280 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


emor, they still more disliked the greedy com¬ 
pany, the West India Company, to which every¬ 
thing belonged. 

This company bought all the island of Man¬ 
hattan for twenty-four dollars from the Indians. 
Land now worth untold millions was sold to 
them at the rate of ten acres for a cent. 

Above the city wall six great bouweries, or 
farms, were laid out. These farms were rented 
in small parts to tenants who must give much of 
all they raised to the company. 

However, in 1664, little farming was done on 
the bouweries above Wall Street. Farmers were 
in constant dread of their lives on account of 
Indian massacres. They dared not leave their 
families on those lonely farms for an hour, so 
most of them deserted the farms and sought 
shelter under the walls of the fort. 

The bitterest complaint against the present 
governor was that he did not protect them from 
the Indians. 

The people of New Amsterdam had endured 
misrule from four Dutch governors. The free 
air of America was a poor place for too much of 


A GREEN ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 281 

that sort of thing. About this time it spurred 
even those placid Dutch to protest. They ap¬ 
pealed to Holland, but no help came from the 
home land of the Dutch. 

The Surrender 

Help was at hand, but strange to say a foe, not 
a friend, was destined to deliver New Amsterdam 
from its tyrants. Another ruler than Holland’s 
was to better the condition of these far-off Dutch 
colonists. 

The English about this time woke up to the 
fact that John Cabot had discovered North 
America. Ministers talking about it in council 
said, “ Those Dutch in the New Netherlands are 
discontented. The whole country belongs to us 
anyway, and that is a splendid port.” 

“ Take it,” commanded his Majesty. 

“Give it to me. You owe me something,” 
begged the Duke of York. 

All the New Netherlands was given to the 
duke, and he set out with a fleet not so large as 
he would like, but he determined to enlarge it 
when he reached the colonies. 


282 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


He stopped at Boston to ask for ships and men, 
but Boston was full of excuses. She lacked men, 
she was poor, etc. 

On sailed the duke with his three ships, stop¬ 
ping this time at Connecticut. That colony had 
quarrelled so much with the Dutch about boun¬ 
dary lines that she was willing to quarrel a little 
more, so Connecticut quickly fitted out another 
ship and pressed a goodly company of men into 
the service of the Duke of York. 

Governor Stuyvesant had been warned and 
sent word of this expedition to the company in 
Holland, but the rich merchants of the Dutch 
West India Company did not believe a word of 
it. They returned answer that all was well. 

Relying on their word, Governor Stuyvesant 
went one bright morning to Fort Orange, now 
Albany. While he was gone up the river with 
one of his ready-made gallows, to hang some 
unruly subject or on an errand equally as interest¬ 
ing, the English fleet anchored off Rabbit’s 
Island. It is now Coney Island. 

Fishermen were the first to see the defiant 
English flag floating over the big war-ship down 


A G REE AT ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 283 

the bay, and they rowed hard to the city with the 
news. 

Of course there was tumult. Right well the 
people knew why English war-ships came to their 
shore. 

They looked at their old fort. Its walls were 
crumbling. Those who wished to enter had no 
need to seek a gate. Paths had already been 
made over the broken-down walls. The cannon 
on the ramparts were rusty old things. 

All this made the men of New Netherlands 
shake their heads. 

Resistance would be useless, they said; be¬ 
sides, did they care to resist and remain under 
the Dutch West India Company? 

Governor Stuyvesant was soon back, and he 
haughtily commanded the people to go to work 
on the fort. At first they obeyed, but soon they 
stopped. 

The next move of the governor was to send a 
letter to the English asking why they came. 

The whole city crowded to the waterside to 
watch for the returning messenger. He went 
straight to the fort with his letter from the 


284 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

English commander, Colonel Nicolls. The letter 
demanded instant surrender of the fort and town 
in the name of the king of England. 

The English made most liberal terms to all 
in New Amsterdam who would swear allegiance 
to their king. Many rights and privileges they 
had asked in vain from the Dutch West India 
Company were freely granted to them now by 
the English. It was all set forth in the letter of 
Colonel Nicolls. 

Governor Stuyvesant knew that it would not 
be safe to let the people see that letter. He 
stormed about the diabolical thirst for indepen¬ 
dence, and said the fewer privileges granted to 
the rabble, the better. 

Soon after the first boat came to land with 
Colonel Nicolls’s reply to Governor Stuyvesant’s 
question about his business in the harbor, another 
boat was seen coming toward the fort under a 
white flag of truce. In this boat was Governor 
Winthrop of Connecticut. He also sent a letter 
to the fort. 

The people wanted to know what was in those 
letters, and they sent a messenger to find out. 


A GREEN ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 285 

Governor Stuyvesant was no more willing to 
show Governor Winthrop’s letter than he was 
the letter of Colonel Nicolls’s. 

Mr. Winthrop advised him to surrender all 
New Netherlands, and sharply reminded the 
Dutch governor that it was his duty to prevent 
bloodshed. 

Crowds now surrounded the fort, and curses 
were heaped on Governor Stuyvesant. In no 
uncertain terms those usually easy Dutchmen 
demanded both letters. 

Their hard old soldier governor refused again. 
Then a bell was rung, and men called through 
the streets: — 

“To the Stadt Huys ! To the Stadt Huys! ” 

A great crowd gathered in and about the little 
state-house. The chief officers of the town were 
directed to learn the terms of surrender and told 
to get Governor Winthrop’s letter. 

Quickly the burgomasters went to Governor 
Stuyvesant and told him the will of the people. 
In a rage, the Dutch ruler of New Netherlands 
tore Governor Winthrop’s letter to pieces. 

Now there was an angry scene. Those chief 


286 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


men in New Amsterdam bitterly reproached 
their governor for his arbitrary act, and told 
him plainly that the people would not endure 
it. He made no reply, and deputies went out to 
tell the people. Now there was one loud cry 
that even the old autocrat in the fort dared not 
ignore. 

“ The letter! The letter! ” 

Frightened Governor Stuyvesant picked up 
the torn pieces, and ordered a copy made of the 
letter which he handed to the burgomaster. 

The English commander moved up the bay. 
Two ships were ordered to land troops, while the 
third was ready to fire on the fort. Connecticut 
and Long Island troops were already in camp 
across the river. 

Standing at an angle of the fort was stubborn 
old Peter Stuyvesant. His brave soldier blood 
was up, and he ordered the matches to be lighted, 
determined to put his rusty old cannon to use. 

Again he called upon the people to mend the 
fort walls. They would not do it. He then or¬ 
dered them to fight. They told him bluntly they 
would do no fighting for him or his company. 


A GREEN ISLE AND A DUTCH TOWN 287 

“Surrender! Surrender!” they called back; 
and they sent the two clergymen of the town 
to implore him not to provoke the enemy by 
firing on them. 

“ There is no powder,” yelled the men, and the 
women sobbed out that they had heard talk 
of plunder from the invading army. Men, 
women, and even children flocked over the 
broken-down walls of the fort, all imploring the 
governor to give up. Message after message 
came to him, asking the same thing. 

“ I would rather be carried out dead,” he cried. 

Finally the two clergymen led him from the 
guns and at last out of the fort, but still he 
would not give up. 

He sent another message to Colonel Nicolls, 
saying that an “ Accommodation could be ar¬ 
ranged.” 

Colonel Nicolls’s haughty reply was : — 

“ To-morrow I will speak with you in Man¬ 
hattan.” 

“ Friends will be welcome if they come in a 
friendly manner,” was Governor Stuyvesant’s 
reply to this. 


288 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


“ I shall come with ships and soldiers, raise 
the white flag of peace at the fort, and then some¬ 
thing may be considered,” replied Nicolls. 

At eight o’clock Saturday morning, 1664, a 
commission of both sides met at the governor’s 
farm to arrange for surrender. 

Monday morning, September 8, Governor Peter 
Stuyvesant stumped out of Fort Amsterdam on 
his wooden leg at the head of his little garri¬ 
son. 

No doubt he was dressed in the military coat 
and “ brimstone breeches,” in which he appeared 
on all great occasions. Many brass buttons and 
much gilt braid made both gorgeous. Of course 
he carried the gold-headed cane with which peo¬ 
ple accused him of strutting like a peacock. 

He led the men down Beaver Path to a wharf 
on the North River where they boarded a ship 
which was to take them to Holland. 

English soldiers marched into the fort. A 
sergeant hoisted the flag of England on the tall 
flagstaff. Fort Amsterdam was immediately 
renamed Fort James, and New Amsterdam had 
become New York. 



New Yoke in 1660 . 








A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


289 


A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 

On a high bluff of the broad York River and 
not many miles from where it flows into Chesa¬ 
peake Bay is a little Virginia town in which all 
loyal citizens of our country feel interest. 

Every field and hill around it is sacred, but 
about a mile from the village is one field more 
interesting than all the rest. It is often called 
the “ Field of Humiliation,” and it is true that 
on this spot the pride of an ancient monarchy 
was humbled, but that is not its chief glory. 

This field would better be called the “ Garden 
of Freedom.” Here the liberty of a young 
republic was won. Here ragged rebel soldiers 
were changed into proud citizens of a free land. 

Through the summer of 1781 the little town 
above the wide York slept serenely. Many a 
father, a brother, or a son was out with Governor 
Nelson who commanded the militia and who 


290 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


was trying to check ruthless Cornwallis from 
plundering Virginia homes. 

News of these fighters for liberty caused a 
ripple when it came, but still the little town 
above the wide York did not feel personally 
concerned about Cornwallis. 

Summer sped on, and the little hamlet on the 
bluff did become personally concerned. 

One day news came that Cornwallis, the ter¬ 
rible Cornwallis who had taken Virginia horses 
to mount his men, the Cornwallis who stole 
slaves to sell into worse slavery and who cruelly 
cut the throats of colts too young to be carried 
off, Cornwallis the scourge of the South who 
pillaged right and left, was within a few hours’ 
march of Yorktown. 

British officers rode pompously into the little 
settlement and looked at the wide river and the 
deep ravines. They said it was an ideal place to 
fortify, and the people guessed the rest. 

What a night of excitement followed! Men 
dug in the earth, and there hid treasures. Women 
wept and prayed. Slaves sent piteous cries to 
Heaven for deliverance. 


A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


291 


The next day there was nothing quiet in this 
beautiful scene. 

An army of seven thousand had marched into 
and around the little town. Those sixty low, 
wide homes no longer belonged to their owners. 
British officers had taken possession, and mem¬ 
bers of the household were little more than ser¬ 
vants who must cook and toil to make the 
invaders comfortable. 

Think of it, you boys and girls who live in 
quiet villages! What would it mean to you to 
see such a lawless army seize your town ? How 
would you like to have your home and all you 
possessed taken while you were perhaps turned 
out to sleep in a barn ? 

On the day when Cornwallis’s army entered 
Yorktown there were interesting sights for the 
boys. 

They saw cities of white tents spring up on 
their meadows as if by magic, and before the 
day was over they knew more about fortifica¬ 
tions than the dictionary or any other book will 
ever tell most of you. 

As soon as possible, thousands of men were set 


292 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


to digging trenches or throwing up earthworks. 
Soon over the ravines and on the bluff were 
great mounds of earth called ramparts. In the out¬ 
lying fields seven great redoubts or outer breast¬ 
works surrounded the town, but these mounds of 
earth did not complete the fortifications of York- 
town. 

When the soldiers had finished digging, they 
were given axes and began to cut down the sur¬ 
rounding forests. Whole groves of pine trees 
fell. The branches were stripped off and were 
piled up in a long line with points toward the 
enemy. This line of piled-up branches the 
soldiers called an “ abatis.” 

Tree branches and earthworks were not the 
only stumbling-blocks which Yorktown saw put 
in the way of our soldiers. Pointed stakes were 
made out of the trunks of the trees, and rows of 
these stakes were driven into the ground in such 
a way that they would be difficult to dodge. 
Such a row of stakes they call a stockade, and an 
assaulting party on the run must halt at a stock¬ 
ade and pull up stakes or some one stumbles to 
his death. 


A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


293 


In addition to watching these different kinds 
of fortification and staring hard while great brass 
and iron cannon were planted on the ramparts, 
the little fellows who saw some history about 
which we can only read looked on delighted 
at the splendid manoeuvres of the invading 
army. 

When evening came, stern sentinels chased 
every urchin home or to the house that had been 
his home. Since morning what a different place 
that home had become! Red-coated officers 
were in every room, and mothers and children 
clung together in a garret or a barn. Here they 
flung themselves on the floor to sleep or to dream 
restlessly of the transformation which had come 
so suddenly on their quiet town. 


Freedom Won 

Cornwallis had not been long in Yorktown 
before spies brought news. It was alarming 
news to the all-conquering Briton. 

There were many secret meetings in the mysteri¬ 
ous cave which the British had built in the side 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


294 

of the bluff, and anxious officers talked in cautious 
whispers on the street. 

Soon the news spread. To the people of 
Yorktown it seemed almost miraculous news. 
They too talked in cautious whispers on the 
street. 

They whispered to one another that a brave 
Frenchman, Count de Grasse, had come to the 
rescue of the struggling colonies with thirty-six 
war-ships and they lay out there in the Chesa¬ 
peake not a dozen miles away. 

Another day and the boom of guns crashed 
over the water confirming these reports. 

Presently more news came. A great battle 
had been fought for us out there in the bay. 
British ships had been sent to the bottom, and 
Count de Grasse was now entire master of the 
Chesapeake. 

This was all bad news to Cornwallis, but the 
worst was yet to come. 

The same day the British commander took 
possession of Yorktown, Washington in the far 
North determined to do something. That some¬ 
thing was to march south and capture the army 


A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


295 


which was plundering his beloved Virginia so 
barbarously. 

While Cornwallis fortified, Washington was 
marching toward Virginia, and the best of it all 
was that Clinton, the British commander in New 
York, never suspected what he was about until it 
was too late. 

It was terrible news to the army at Yorktown 
when they heard that thousands of French and 
American troops were being landed scarcely ten 
miles away. 

Cornwallis was in a trap. Escape was cut off, 
and he must face the allied French and American 
armies with De Grasse to guard every waterway. 

British fortifications were now strengthened. 
Sentinels were scattered thickly about. Men 
cleaned the throats of the great guns and loaded 
them with care. Every soldier slept beside his 
arms. 

The people of the place trembled with both 
fear and joy. They saw the horrors of battle 
hanging over them, and knew that a great cause 
was to be lost or won in their midst. Women 
cast last looks at what had been loved homes, and 


296 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

then with their children hurried to a place of 
safety. Everything in the shape of food was 
seized and stored. 

On the morning of September 28, 1781, twelve 
thousand of the combined French and American 
armies set out by different roads from Williams¬ 
burg and marched to Yorktown, fourteen miles 
away. Governor Nelson’s militia joined the 
regulars, making in all from sixteen to eighteen 
thousand soldiers. 

The battle-scarred American troops were a 
sorry lot to behold, but under those torn clothes 
were no discouraged hearts. Every ragged 
soldier knew that he was surely marching to 
victory, and every step toward Yorktown was a 
step toward freedom. 

Then the French! how they gloried in being 
defenders of the young nation which had un¬ 
furled freedom’s banner so boldly. Theirs was 
not the haughty step of mere brutal conquerors. 
It was the light step of one who is on the right 
as well as on the winning side. All was joy in 
the army which marched from Williamsburg 
that bright September morning. 


A TRA NSF OR MED VILLAGE 297 

The British on the outer intrenchments did 
not wait to enjoy the strains of “ Yankee Doodle.” 
Fifes and bugles filled the air with the saucy 
tune which had been flung at the ragged rebels 
in derision, but its faintest note had not crept 
into the ears of the British before they withdrew 
into their inner fortifications. With a slight 
skirmish French and American troops took 
possession of the abandoned breastworks. 

A few more days sped by. There was firing 
from the town, and some damage was done to 
the American breastworks; but under cover of 
darkness the besiegers had thrown up redoubts 
within three hundred yards of the British lines. 

On the night of October 13, just as twilight 
was speeding into dark, Washington himself 
went to a great gun planted on an old mill and 
put the match to it. 

Eighteen thousand soldiers watched a fiery 
ball move in wavering lines across the dark 
space and crash into British ramparts. 

Now for four days and nights Yorktown was 
in all that is terrible in war. During the time, 
hundreds of cannon hardly ceased to roar. The 


298 STORIES OF BRA EE OLD TIMES 

whole peninsula trembled under the incessant 
thunder. At night the sky seemed to be full 
of fiery meteors with gleaming tails of light 
streaming in long circles after them. Those 
fiery balls tore rents in British ships. They 
shattered houses to splinters and made yawning 
holes in sturdy breastworks. 

Added to this incessant thunder of artillery 
was the crack and smoke and flash of twenty- 
five thousand rifles. Millions of bullets, each 
bent on taking a human life, swept with terrible 
swiftness across the fields of Yorktown. The air 
was full of these tiny messengers of death. 

For a time this portion of the quiet earth 
seemed changed to an infernal region. Night 
was full of red flame. Tons of earth were thrown 
into the sky. Shells fell into the river and sent 
waterspouts high in air. Smoke, noise, fire, 
death, reigned supreme. 

So terrible was this storm of shot and shell, so 
great were the holes made by our guns in the 
redoubts of the British, that an assault was 
planned. 

One evening four hundred picked French and 


A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


299 


American soldiers leaped over their intrench- 
ments and began a swift and silent march upon 
the enemy. 

Over the stockade they dodged. They tore 
the abatis partly away, and then rushed on until 
they stood over the British in their trenches. 

In six minutes one hundred brave Frenchmen 
lay on the ground, but in that short time they 
had mastered and manned the right redoubt, 
and the Americans bad mastered the left. A 
group of prisoners was marched to one side, and 
Yorktown was more completely at our mercy. 

This assault did not end the struggle. 

Three more days of infernal war had to be 
endured before Cornwallis was ready to yield. 
Day by day, however, the guns of the British 
were growing silent. It was plain that they 
could not stand the awful fire poured on them. 

One morning Governor Thomas Nelson pointed 
to his own house in Yorktown and shouted: — 

“ A guinea to the gunner who hits that house.” 

It was the house Cornwallis was using as head¬ 
quarters. 

Soon shells were taking their circling course 


300 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

to the fine old home. One tore the ground in 
front of it in a savage manner; two crashed into 
the solid brick walls. 

It was a vigorous hint, and the British com¬ 
mander took it. 

A white flag went up in the village on the 
bluff, and a wild yell of triumph came from eigh¬ 
teen thousand men in the trenches. 

Freedom was won. 

A Field of Humiliation 

On the morning of the 19th of October terms 
of surrender were signed, and at two o’clock the 
allied American and French armies were drawn 
up on the opposite sides of Hampton Road. 

At the head of the American troops was an 
elegantly formed man on a big white horse. 
His uniform was blue with buff trimmings. He 
was the most commanding figure on the field. 

That day he was as full of motion as his rest¬ 
less horse. His eye swept down the line below 
him with fatherly pride. The men who had 
fought under him returned the glance with 
sincere affection. 



The House into Which the Last Shot of the Revolution was Fired 














A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


301 


On the opposite side of the road the French 
also glanced at the stately American with admira¬ 
tion. They thought such a straight-limbed, per¬ 
fect specimen of manhood good to look upon. 

The name of that man is now immortal. Every 
schoolboy knows it, but do they know that 
Washington won the title “Father of his Coun¬ 
try” on the field of Yorktown? 

Three weeks in muddy trenches had not im¬ 
proved the appearance of the American troops. 
If they were a sorry lot to behold when they 
came to Yorktown, they were a sorrier one 
now. 

Some had on coats with the tails torn off; 
some had on no coats at all. A ragged shirt 
was all that covered thousands of lean shoulders 
and scrawny arms. There were feet encased in 
worn shoes, there were feet tied up in bloody rags, 
and there were many, many feet quite bare in 
that line on which history looks so proudly. 

Their very smile, and they smiled that day on 
Hampton Road, was sad to see. The skin which 
lay in ghastly wrinkles over bony faces drew back 
from the teeth like the grin of a skeleton, There 


302 


STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 


was awful suffering behind the smile of Yorktown 
heroes. 

It was a weary as well as a ragged line. While 
waiting for their conquered foes many rested 
their muskets on the ground and leaned heavily 
against them. 

The French troops opposite were fairly well 
dressed in white uniforms. At their head was 
gallant Count Rochambeau in splendid white and 
gold uniform and mounted on a magnificent bay 
horse. 

Did ever a prouder line stand shoulder to 
shoulder than the dirty ragged one of American 
soldiers on the field of Yorktown? Did ever a 
more sympathetic one face an ally than their 
better-clad and brave French allies? 

Theirs was not the pride which gloats over a 
fallen foe. Even their enemies have left record 
that our forefathers were generous foes. On the 
field of blood they spared every man who ceased 
to resist. Those “ ragged revolutionists ” refused 
to practise the barbarities of old-world warfare. 
Their descendants can be • as proud of their 
humanity as of their bravery. 


A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


303 


Those war-spent victors of Yorktown knew that 
they had done more than gain a great victory 
over a powerful foe. They were well aware that 
they had been making history. Every man there 
realized that he had taken part in giving liberty 
to unborn millions. 

News of the surrender had spread rapidly, and 
fully thirty thousand people had poured into 
Yorktown from the surrounding country to wit¬ 
ness the great ceremony. 

Cornwallis was the object of curiosity. Vir¬ 
ginia farmers wanted to see the man who had 
stolen and destroyed fifteen million dollars’ worth 
of their property, and the soldiers wished to look 
upon the gallant Briton they had conquered with 
so much difficulty. 

No crowd, however, gazed on Cornwallis in 
defeat. He could not bring himself to lead his 
humbled army past their ragged conquerors. 

The haughty British general opened all his 
stores and sent his army marching to defeat in 
new uniforms, a marked contrast to the tattered 
ranks whose triumph they were celebrating. 

Profound silence settled over both the crowd 


304 STORIES OF BRAVE OLD TIMES 

and the military when drums were heard. Slowly 
the vanquished army filed out of its intrench- 
ments. No flags were flung to the breeze. 
Every standard was neatly folded and wrapped 
in a case. 

Cornwallis pretended to be ill. He gave his 
sword to General O’Hara and commanded him 
to lead the troops to the Field of Humiliation. 

That officer halted in front of Washington and 
extended the sword of his chief after proper 
excuses. 

Washington did not receive it personally. 
With a dignified wave of his hand he directed 
General Lincoln to attend to the ceremony, and a 
gleam of triumph shot from that officer’s eyes at 
the special compliment. His own hour of shame, 
the bitter hour when he was captured by Corn¬ 
wallis, was softened now. 

General Lincoln wheeled into line. The fifes 
struck up a queer tune, and the march of shame 
began. 

As they marched between long files of their 
conquerors it is said that the British kept march 
to the queer old English tune, “ The World’s 


A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


305 


Turned Upside Down.” No doubt it seemed so 
to those defeated soldiers, but the world was not 
turned upside down. It had only been turned 
right-about face. 

The march of shame ended in the Field of 
Humiliation. It was a large field, but there 
was little empty space on that great day. The 
throng occupied every nook not occupied by the 
military. 

Generals Lincoln and O’Hara dismounted, and 
the ceremonies began at once. 

The sword of Cornwallis, that ruthless sword 
which had been striking such withering terror 
to the South, the sword which had been prolong¬ 
ing our struggle for freedom, the sword which 
had stood like a wall between us and liberty, 
was handed to General Lincoln. 

What a moment in American history! What 
an event in the annals of the world! The heads 
of the British army went down as they saw 
their proud nation on its knees before that ragged 
line of rebel colonists, and silence almost awful 
is said to have stolen over the multitude of 
onlookers. 


306 stories of brave old times 

Most courteously, and with deep feeling, Gen¬ 
eral Lincoln gave back the sword, and requested 
that it be returned to its owner. 

Next, twenty-eight British captains advanced 
with the folded standards, and at the same time 
a young lieutenant led out from the continental 
and French troops a detail of twenty-eight ser¬ 
geants. The men took positions, and the young 
lieutenant ordered: — 

“ Two paces forward.” 

The tattered sergeants promptly obeyed, but 
the British captains hesitated. 

“ What is the matter ? ” asked Hamilton. 

Ah, what was the matter? What did those 
folded standards mean to thirty millions across 
the sea ? Did either Generals Lincoln or Hamil¬ 
ton fully realize for the moment how bitter was 
the humiliation when the proudest flag on all 
the seas was wiped in the dust at their feet ? 
Sometimes in great moments our thoughts are 
on such commonplace details. 

With sturdy English independence the twenty- 
eight British captains replied to “ what is the 
matter ? ” with the straightforward assertion that 


A TRANSFORMED VILLAGE 


30 ; 

they objected to giving up their standards to 
men of lower rank. 

“ Spare their feelings and receive the flags 
yourself,” was the order to the young lieutenant, 
and each one of the twenty-eight standards was 
first handed to this officer and then passed on 
to a sergeant. 

Now came the last and most humiliating cere¬ 
mony to the individual soldier. The vanquished 
army began to move. It also marched to that 
open space, and there each soldier who had 
fought against the freedom of the American 
colonies stacked his arms and unstrapped his 
accoutrements. Some did this in a decent, 
orderly manner. Others slammed their weapons 
down as if they wished to break them. Stern 
orders stopped that. 

They returned to their places no longer sol¬ 
diers, no longer freedom’s foes. 

Those seventy-eight hundred and forty men in 
Cornwallis’s army, the pride of the British mili¬ 
tary, stood on the Field of Humiliation prison¬ 
ers of war. Their arms and their liberty were 
gone. They must march from that field guarded 


308 stories of brave old times 

0 

by the ragged rebels who had been their jest 
and scorn. It was a bitter hour for England’s 
soldiers. It was a bitterer one for their haughty 
commander, and it was the bitterest hour Great 
Britain had known for centuries. 

The picture which offsets all this bitterness 
is one of such wild joy and far-stretching good 
that it is difficult to imagine the deep shame this 
Field of Humiliation brought to our foes. 



Lord Cornwallis 




Makers of England Series 

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A Boy of a Thousand Years Ago 


BY HARRIET T. COMSTOCK 

Author of “ Cedric the Saxon ” and “Tower 
or Throne, a Romance of the Girlhood of 
Elizabeth ” 

Large i2mo Cloth Profusely illustrated 
with full-page drawings and chapter head¬ 
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Postage 12 cents 

N OT a boy lives who will not enjoy this 
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old England a thousand years ago. —Louisville Courier-Journal. 

Stories from history appeal especially to children, and one little girl 
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TOM WINSTONE,“WIDE AWAKE” 

By MARTHA JAMES 

Author of “ My Friend Jim ” and “ Jack Tenfield’s Star ” 

Large \2mo. Cloth. Illustrated by W. Herbert Dunton. Price $1.00 


“ Another book equally worthy of a 
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For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers. 





TOM WINSTONE 
"WIDEAWAKE’* 



MARTHA 

AMES. 


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Young Heroes of Wire and Rail 

By ALVAH MILTON KERR 
Illustrated by H. C. EDWARDS, J. C. LEYENDECKER, and others 

12mo Cloth Price $1.25 


This is a book of wonderfully vivid stories of 
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For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers. 


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PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES 

By A. T. DUDLEY 


Illustrated by Charles Copeland. Cloth. Price per vol., $1.25 


FIRST VOLUME 

FOLLOWING THE BALL 

Here is an up-to-date story presenting 
American boarding-school life and modern 
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SECOND VOLUME 

MAKING THE NINE 

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American Boys’ Life of 
Theodore Roosevelt 

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 325 pages Illustrated 
from photographs $1,25 


E VER since the enormous 
success of Mr. Strate- 
meyer’s “ American Boys’ Life 
of William McKinley” there 
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life), and full particulars are given of the daring battles 
for Cuban liberty, in which our worthy President, as 
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The Appendix contains a Chronology of Theodore 
Roosevelt, and also brief extracts from some of his most 
famous speeches and addresses. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid, on 
receipt of price, by the publishers . 


LEE AND SHEPARD 

BOSTON 
























American Boys’ Life 
Of William McKinley 

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 300 pages Il¬ 
lustrated by A. B. Shute, and from photographs $1.25 



HERE is 
whole 


told the 
story of 
McKinley’s boyhood 
days, his life at school 
and at college, his work 
as a school teacher, his 
glorious career in the 
army, his struggles to 
obtain a footing as a 
lawyer, his efforts as 
a Congressman, and 
lastly h i s prosperous 
career as our President. 
There are many side 
lights on the work at 
the White House during the war with Spain, and in 
China, all told in a style particularly adapted to boys 
and young men. The book is full of interesting anec¬ 
dotes, all taken from life, showing fully the sincere, 
honest, painstaking efforts of a life cut all too short. 
The volume will prove an inspiration to all boys and 
young men, and should be in every one’s library. 

For sale by all booksellers , or sent postpaid , on receipt 
of price , by the publishers . 


LEE AND SHEPARD 


BOSTON 

























THE FAMOUS “OLD GLORY SERIES’ 

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 

Author of “ The Bound to Succeed Series ,” “ The Ship and Short 
Series,™ “ Colonial Series,” “ Pan-American Series ,’* etc. 

Six volumes Cloth Illustrated Price per volume $X*25 

UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA 

Or The War Fortunes of a Castaway 

A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA 
Or Fighting for the Single Star 

FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS 

Or Under Schley on the Brooklyn 

UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES 
Or A Young Officer in the Tropics 

THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE 
Or Under Lawton through Luzon 

UNDER MACARTHUR IN LUZON 
Or Last Battles in the Philippines 

“A boy once addicted to Stratemeyer stays by him.”— The Living 
Church. 

“ The boys’ delight — the * Old Glory Series.* ”— The Christian Ad¬ 
vocate, New York. 

“ Stratemever’s style suits the boys.” — John Terhune, Supt. of Pub¬ 
lic Instruction, Bergen Co., New jersey. 

“Mr. Stratemeyer is in a class by himself when it comes to writing 
about American heroes, their brilliant doings on land and sea.” — Times , 
Boston. 

“ Mr. Stratemeyer has written a series of books which, while histori¬ 
cally correct and embodying the most important features of the Spanish- 
American War and the rebellion of the Filipinos, an sufficiently inter¬ 
woven with fiction to render them most entertaining to young readers,*' 
— The Call, San Francisco. 



For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid , on receipt of price by 

LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers, 

BOSTON 




















THE COLONIAL SERIES 

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 

Author of “ Pan-American Series ,” “ Old Glory Series “ Great 
American Industries Series ,” “American Boys' 
Biographical Series ,” etc. 


Four volumes Cloth Illustrated by A. B, Shute 
Price per volume, $1*25 


WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST 
Or A Soldier Boy's Battles in the Wilderness 

MARCHING ON NIAGARA 
Or The Soldier Boys of the Old Frontier 

AT THE FALL OF MONTREAL 
Or A Soldier Boy's Final Victory 

ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC 
Or The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio 

“ Mr. Stratemeyer has put his best work into the ‘ Colonial 
Series.’ ” — Christian Register , Boston. 

“ A series that doesn’t fall so very far short of being history 
itself.” — Boston Courier. 

“ The tales of war are incidental to the dramatic adventures of 
two boys, so well told that the historical facts are all the better 
remembered.”— Boston Globe. 

“Edward Stratemeyer has in many volumes shown himself 
master of the art of producing historic studies in the pleasing 
story form.”— Minneapolis Journal. 

“ The author, Edward Stratemeyer, has used his usual care m 
matters of historical detail and accuracy, and gives a splendid 
picture of the times in general.” — Milwaukee Sentinel. 

“Told by one who knows how to write so as to interest boys, 
while still having a care as to accuracy. — Commercial Advertiser , 
New York. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by 

LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers 

BOSTON 


























PATRIOTIC SERIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 


“ Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime.” 

The volumes included in this 
series tend to inculcate the spirit 
of patriotism and good citizenship. 
The boys and girls of to-day are 
here made acquainted with the lives 
and characters of many noble men 
and women of this and other 
countries. The information is pleas¬ 
antly and vividly imparted in the 
form of popular biography as well 
as fiction by well-known and popular 
writers. 

Uniform Cloth Binding New 
and Attractive Dies Illus¬ 
trated Price per volume $1.00 

1. Bobbin Boy The Early Life of 
Gen. N. P. Banks 

2. Border Boy A Popular Life 
of Daniel Boone By W. H. 
Bogart 

3. Daring Deeds of the Revolution By Henry C. Watson 

4. Dora Darling or the Daughter of the Regiment By Jane G. 

Austin 

5. Dora Darling and Little Sunshine By Jane G. Austin 

6. Father of his Country A Popular Life of George Washington 

By Henry C. Watson 

7. Friend of Washington A Popular Life of General Lafayette. 

By Henry C. Watson. 

8. Great Men and Gallant Deeds By J. G. Edgar 

9. Great Peacemaker A Popular Life of William Penn By 

Henry C. Watson 

10. Great Expounder Young Folks’ Life of Daniel Webster 

11. Good and Great Men Their Brave Deeds and Works By 

John Frost, LL.D. 

12. Little Corporal Young Folks’ Life of Napoleon Bonaparte 

By John Frost, LL.D. 

13. Mill Boy of the Slashes Life of Henry Clay By John Frost 

14. Noble Deeds of American Women Edited by J. Clement 

15. Old Bell of Independence By Henry C. Watson 

16. Old Hickory Life of Andrew Jackson By John Frost 

17. Old Rough and Ready Young Folks’ Life of Gen. Zachary 

Taylor By John Frost, LL.D. 

18. Pioneer Mothers of the West Daring and Heroic Deeds of 

American Women By John Frost, LL.D. 

19. Printer Boy or How Ben Franklin made his Mark 

20. Poor Richard’s Story A Popular Life of Ben Franklin By 

Henry C. Watson 

21. Paul and Persis or the Revolutionary Struggle in the Mohawk 

Valley By Mary E. Brush 

22 Quaker among the Indians By Thomas C. Battey 

23. Swamp Fox Life of Gen. Francis Marion By John Frost 

24. Women of Worth whom the World Loves to Honor 

$5. Young Invincibles or Patriotism at Home. By I. H. Anderson 

LEE and SHEPHERD Publishers, BOSTON 














BRAVE HEART SERIES 

By JiDELE E. THOMPSON 


Betty Seldon, Patriot 

Illustrated by Lilian Crawford True 
i 2 mo Cloth 300 pages $ 1.25 

I T is a great deal to say of a book that it is 
at the same time fascinating and noble. 
That is what “Betty Seldon, Patriot” is. 
Historical events are accurately traced leading 
up to the surrender of Cornwallis at York- 
town, with reunion and happiness for all who 
deserve it. Betty is worth a thousand of the 
fickle coquette heroines of some latter day 
popular novels. 


Brave Heart Elizabeth 

1 i2mo Cloth Illustrated by Lilian Craw¬ 
ford True $1.25 

T HIS is a book for older girls, and in 
strength ranks with the best fiction of 
the year. It is a story of the making of the 
i Ohio frontier, much of it taken from life, 
and the heroine one of the famous Zane 
family after which Zanesville, O., takes its 
name. As an accurate, pleasing, and yet at 
times intensely thrilling picture of the stir¬ 
ring period of border settlement, and the 
hardy folk, whose familiarity with danger 
taught a surprising ability to enjoy the bright' 
er side withal, this book surpasses all recent 
writings of its kind. 




A Lassie of the Isles $125 


LEE AND SHEPARD BOSTON 

































































THE QIRLWHO KEPT UP 


By MARY McCRAE CUTLER 


Illustrated by C. Louise Williams. 12mo. Cloth. $1.25 



This is a strong, wholesome story of 
achievement. The end of a high school 
course divides the paths of a boy and girl 
who have been close friends and keen 
rivals. The youth is to go to college, 
while the girl, whose family is in humbler 
circumstances, must remain at home and 
help. She sees that her comrade will 
feel that he is out-growing her, and she 
determines to and does keep up with him 
in obtaining an education. 


“ The story is human to the least phase of it, and it is told ■with such 
simple force and vivacity that its effect is strong and positive. The 
pictures of college and home life are true hits of realism. It is an 
excellent piece of ■work.”— Bookseller, Newsdealer and Stationer, 
New York. 

“The story is well told, and is thoroughly helpful in every respect.” 

— Epworth Herald, Chicago. 

“The telling of the story is attractive, and will he found helpful to 
all readers.”— The Baptist Union, Chicago. 

“Let us recommend this hook for young people for the excellent 
lesson of honest striving and nohle doing that it clearly conveys.” — 
Boston Courier. 

“ It is a healthy and inspiring story.”— Brooklyn Eagle. 

“The tale is full of good lesson for all youngpeople.”— Boston Beacon. 

“ The story will he hoth pleasant and profitable to the youth of both 
sexes.” — Louisville Courier-Journal. 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by 


LEE & SHEPARD, P-ublisHers, Boston 


























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